Prince of the Eye
by Zahariel
Summary: What if Horus had survived the Heresy ? What if, as the Siege of Terra approached, the Dark Gods conveyed, and changed their plans ? Exiled in the Eye of Terror with the rest of the Traitor Legions, how would the Warmaster adapt to his defeat, and the realities of the Long War ? An AU story in the style of the Roboutian Heresy and the Fifteenth Ascendant.
1. Prelude

The Dark Gods were meeting in the Warp, in a place where none of them had walked in many ages of the galaxy. They gathered in the ruins of what had once been a grand Realm, but was now nothing more than the echoes of faded glories that had never been. They met in the monument of their greatest victory, a triumph so absolute there wasn't a single soul in the universe who knew it had even happened. Even the mightiest of their daemonic choirs did not know about this place, and the Gods themselves only remembered it when it was required that they do so.

Cunning Tzeentch was the first to arrive, for it had been him who had called this meeting. He was a raging inferno the size of a world, a vortex of many-hued flames into which a thousand thousand faces could be glimpsed, screaming and laughing and weeping and crying out one of the universe's secret for every million lies. The flames were shaped like a pillar, atop which stood a head similar in form to that of a bird, but with teeth made of broken minds and eyes that burned with all the images of a better world that had ever been dreamt by a genocidal tyrant.

Then came Khorne, in all his blood-soaked glory. He was clad in armor of brass and iron forged in the iconography of skulls, and his horned head was that of a wolf, teeth dripping with ichor. Weapons hung from his belt, an infinity of them – every tool of murder that had ever been created or ever would be, from the sharpened rock that had been used to bash in the skull of the first human murder victim to a bomb that had extinguished an entire Sector during the War in Heavens. Khorne's flesh was skinless, crimson and raw, with white bone showing under the muscles.

Nurgle, God of Life and Death, Plaguefather and enemy of Tzeentch, was the next to huddle his enormous mass in. He was much like his disciples across a million worlds imagined him : bloated with fat, cancers and rot, a behemoth of greenish skin and yellow bones, bile flowing from tears in his belly. Great horns rose from his head, like those of a stag, but brittle and diseased, as if the slightest breeze could break them. A cloud of flies hovered above his head like a black halo, and he was gnawing on a piece of meat that had once been the ecosystem of an entire planet.

Finally, Slaanesh, the Dark Prince of Excess, arrived, dancing and leaping over the ruins of a kingdom that had been dead long before the Eldars had dreamed their doom into existence, yet with which the Profligate One still remembered warring aeons ago. She was as beautiful and terrible as he ever was, a vision from the greatest and darkest dreams of every species that had ever known desire. He was the Lord of Pain and Pleasure, the Great Corruptor, and her sight would have broken the heart of any human (and any who beheld what it truly looked like would have had their soul shattered also, for it was more monstrous than any of its older siblings).

The Primordial Pantheon of Chaos met in the ruined kingdom of their dead, nameless brother-that-never-was, and three of them looked upon Tzeentch, who had called them here, invoking accords and pacts that had been forged in the first days of the universe.

(This isn't what happened, of course. The Dark Gods do not speak with one another, because they do not speak at all, nor do they have bodies or appearances, and they certainly do not make pacts with one another, nor were they present at the beginning of the universe. They are creatures of madness and raw energy, primordial concepts of existence given names, meaning and agency by the dreams of mortals desperate to impose some form of order upon the unspeakable Chaos that has dwelled at the heart of the Sea of Souls since the catastrophic ending of the War in Heavens, sixty millions years ago. And yet, it still happened, and they still do and are all these things that cannot possibly be true, for every metaphor is made reality in the Empyrean, and the Ruinous Powers are still bound by what few laws of this dimension their very existence does not break.)

'I thank you all for coming,' said Tzeentch (and again, these weren't words that were exchanged, but rather concepts and information on a divine scale – yet it also was words, at the same time).

'Right now, our champion, Horus, has gathered all of his forces to him, and has begun his final advance toward Terra. There, as we have decided, he shall confront the Anathema, and destroy his mortal body, condemning him to imprisonment within the Throne of Dust. The Sacrificed King has already destroyed the Anathema's plan to bend the Webway to his purpose. Now, he will remove the possibility of the Anathema coming up with a new way of denying us our ultimate victory by silencing him and binding him to Terra.'

'And our champion will die in that confrontation, as was ordained as well, for Horus has proved that he will not willingly bend the knee to us and usher in our great triumph. He would seek to claim his father's crown for himself, and in his pride he would see the galaxy purged of life rather than allow us our final victory. That is why he will perish, and the Long War shall begin as he breathes his last. That is our grand plan, the one we all agreed upon when we scattered the Anathema's sons across the stars. There have been alterations to it made here and there, where our personal goals demanded it, but we have clung to this overarching design. But, my brothers … we have been deceived. The Anathema has played us for fools. He knew of our plans to turn his sons against him, and he planned around us.'

'With the Anathema trapped in the Throne of Dust, our truce, such as it is, will be ended. We will turn upon each other, and for ten thousand years our followers will make war. All the while, the Anathema will feed on the faith of his Imperium, until the day the Throne of Dust finally breaks, succumbing to entropy and the terrible power coursing through it. On that day, our hordes will pour forth from our realm, mortals and immortals alike, and wage the final war for dominion over the galaxy … or so we thought. But, brothers, we have been deceived.'

'For when the Anathema's mortal vessel perishes, the blind worship of trillions will pour unrestrained into his ascended spirit. He will be as we are, unbound by the covenants and fuelled by the blind worship of trillions of souls across the galaxy. Terra will burn in golden fire, and the Eternal Tyrant will rise with his legions of angels, transfiguring Mankind into something beyond our ability to influence.'

As Tzeentch spoke, he sent images to the other Dark Gods, showing them what that future would look like. He showed them the Angels of Death, reforged into vengeful, fiery wraiths of destruction. He showed them the numberless hosts of the Astra Militarum, made undying and uncaring by the power of their God. He showed them the clockwork children of the Mechanicus and their great machines, driven to endless perfection by the beating of the Eternal Tyrant's heart. He showed them their servants hunted down by the reborn heroes of the Imperium, transformed into vessels of divine power, and how they would be forced back into the Eye of Terror, where the Long War would turn into one of survival. And they all agreed that this future must not be.

'We must change our plans for the Long War that will follow the end of the rebellion,' declared Tzeentch. 'I see two options that would prevent this future from coming to pass. One is to empower Horus enough that he will destroy the Anathema completely. But this is likely to fail, and even should it succeed, then we will face the same problems that led us to arrange our Warmaster's defeat in the first place. The second option is that we must wage the Long War not through conquest and destruction, hardening the faith of Mankind in their dead god with every blow, but through temptation and corruption. We must destroy the faith of Mankind so that the Eternal Tyrant cannot be born – or if it is, it must be weak enough that we can defeat it in the Great Game.'

'Fortunately,' and Tzeentch's countless mouths were smiling now, 'we have one champion who has proven more than capable at this task. A champion whose charisma has turned half the Imperium against itself, doing more to spread our influence upon Mankind in a handful of years than even Lorgar could in half a century. And it would be the easiest thing for us all to arrange for that individual to remain able to oppose the Anathema throughout the coming ages. Do you see of whom I speak, my brothers ?'

'You are talking about letting Horus survive the first stage of the Long War,' said Slaanesh.

'Yes,' nodded Tzeentch, the motion sending ripples amidst his flaming manifestation. 'We will need to work together for this to go well – there are many factors at play that guarantee our Sacrificed King will live up to his name. I believe he is the one most suited to ensure that the vision I just shared with you do not come to pass. And in addition, it would even mean that we kept the spirit of our word to him : his rebellion would be the only thing preventing his father from becoming a god.'

There was much discussion after that, as the Dark Gods arranged the details of this new accord. They spoke of old grudges and potential futures, of the balance between them and how it may be broken anew. Even as they discussed a solution to a threat to all of them, it was in their nature to each seek to use the opportunity to secure their own supremacy over the others. But they had already come to an agreement, as Tzeentch had known they would. All that remained was to hammer the plan's finer details – which of course, in the long run, would prove the most important.

The discussion lasted an age, and also less than an instant. A new accord was reached, and the Dark Gods departed, to set in motion the events required to forge the new path they had agreed upon. Commands were issued to the hosts of the Neverborn, and the strings of mortal puppets were pulled, that the course of Fate, which had seemingly been set in stone, may be shifted once more.

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AN : So ... yeah. This is a thing.

I have been posting this story on Spacebattles for about a month now, and it has reached a length where my initial plan of posting it on the "Warhammer 40000 Short Stories" fic is just ridiculous. So, after much hesitation, I have decided to bit the bolt shell and create a new fic exclusively reserved to this new alternate timeline. I am not sure what ffnet policies are about posting multiple chapters on a fic nigh-simultaneously, so in order to avoid problems, I am going to post one chapter a day until I am caught up.

Now, to discuss the actual story. It was inspired by a couple of things I had been reading at the time I began writing it : the comic book series Lucifer, by Mike Carey, and the tabletop role-playing game Infernum, by Mongoose Publishing. The prologue you just read was heavily inspired on the series Sandman, by Neil Gaiman (more especially the amazing storyline _Seasons of Mist_).

This story is going to be in "narrative style", that is to say, an historical account of events with short scenes and lines of dialogue. Kind of like what I do for the Roboutian Heresy, except the chapters are going to be much, _much _shorter, and I am writing them in a much more free-style manner.

Progress on the other fics continues to advance. I am almost done with the next chapter of Warband of the Forsaken Sons, and I estimate that I am around 80% for the Roboutian Heresy.

I hope you enjoyed reading this prelude, and will enjoy what comes next.

Zahariel out.


	2. The Siege of Terra

And so, the Siege of Terra began. For several weeks, the Traitor Legions and their allies hurled themselves at the walls of the Imperial Palace, and the Emperor's Children rampaged across the surface of the Throneworld, inflicting unspeakable horrors upon the population that the defenders of the Imperium had abandoned to focus on the Palace's protection.

On and on went the slaughter, Dorn's defenses proving a match for the Traitors' onslaught. The sun rose and fell behind clouds of dust and ash, and though millions died with every passing hour, the renegades were no closer to breaching the walls of the Imperial Palace and claiming victory. Eventually, astropaths on both sides of the conflict (those who hadn't been driven mad by the turmoil in the Warp as the Warmaster unleashed unspeakable horrors upon the Throneworld) began to hear a new distant voice in the chorus of wails : the echoes of the Ultramarines and the Dark Angels, whose fleets had long been delayed by trickery and strategy, about to reach Terra at last.

Yet the Imperial commanders withheld these news from their soldiers, save for a few leaders, for they believed that the defense of the Palace was only holding on by a thread, and that hope, in these circumstances, would be a deadly poison. Warriors who think they have nothing to lose fight harder than those who still hold the hope that they might survive the day after all. Similarly, among the traitors, Horus made sure to prevent knowledge of the approach of the First and Thirteenth Legion from spreading : his hold onto the forces under his banner was already fragile enough as it was. But the key players of the field knew, and that was enough.

In truth, for all that the Dark Gods' decision would alter the fate of the entire galaxy, the change that set it all in motion was a relatively small one. All it took was for the Four to bend their great power together in order to make sure that, when Horus, in a last gamble for victory, lowered the shields of the _Vengeful Spirit _and let his father board his flagship, the Warmaster did not cross the path of his brother, Sanguinius.

It was not an easy change. Sanguinius' doom at Horus' hands had long been written, witnessed and accepted by the Angel himself (though the Primarch was determined to make his death count, and his enemies pay for each drop of his blood). There was much resistance to this alteration of the plan, and powers that had been old before the Dark Gods had risen from the Warp's chaotic tides stood against them now, for they feared Sanguinius more than any of his brothers, still haunted by memories of Mankind's first tentative reaches toward the divine. The Dark Gods feared Sanguinius too : it was why they had gone to such lengths to corrupt him, and kill him when that had failed. But now they feared the golden shadow of the Eternal Tyrant more, and the old powers could not resist them for long.

And so Sanguinius wandered the corridors of the _Vengeful Spirit_, seeking the bridge and his fated confrontation with his brother. But the ship's interior twisted and changed around him, turning him around and around, and all his power and will could not break him free. Sons of Horus were guided toward him, and he slaughtered them all, for despite the wounds he had sustained defeating the daemon Ka'Bhanda, the Angel was more than a match for any number of Astartes.

Even the gifts bestowed by the Ruinous Powers upon some of the most worthy (or most foolish) sons of the Warmaster were not enough. Only Horus could kill him, for the Dark Gods had not unwritten his demise at the hands of their champion : they had merely delayed it, pushed it back in the distant future. Even they did not know what the full consequences of such an act would be. Perhaps Kairos Fateweaver, the Oracle of Tzeentch, knew, as it knew most things past and future. But since the gathering of the Four in the ruined palace of their unborn brother, all the Oracle had done was laugh in the Court of its master, its two heads shrieking and gasping endlessly.

While the Angel was kept away from his doom by the machinations of the Dark Gods, the Emperor tore a path toward the bridge of the ship, seeking His treacherous progeny. Nothing the armies of the Arch-Traitor threw at Him could hurt Him, but one by one, the Custodes and Imperial Fists who had accompanied Him in the assault fell or were separated from Him. And so, when He finally faced Horus on the bridge of the _Vengeful Spirit_, the Master of Mankind was alone. What words they exchanged, if any, were lost to posterity. And what did words mean, after seven years of a war that had set the galaxy ablaze and left trillions dead ?

In a single moment, the Talon of Horus pierced through the Emperor's heart, and His sword cut through the Warmaster's armor and deep into his flesh. Father and son fell to the deck, their blood mingling onto the metal floor, the vitae igniting where the psychically charged blood of the Emperor met the Chaos-tainted blood of His son.

As the Sons of Horus watched in horrified silence as their father fell, an old, human man appeared on the bridge, emerging from the shadows. He was named Ollanius Persson, and he had come far to be here – but it seemed that he had been too late. He could have struck Horus down there and then : the Warmaster was bleeding, unconscious, and Persson was far more dangerous than he appeared. But if he did that, then the Space Marines in the room would kill him, and the Emperor would die too, and the consequences of _that _were too grave to dwell upon. So he did the only thing he could think of : he hauled the Master of Mankind's dying form onto his shoulders (for despite all His power, in the end, the Emperor's body was only that of a man) and vanished again, cutting a hole into reality with a blade he had taken from a dead Word Bearer on distant Calth.

Sanguinius felt his father's and brother's fall and the former's disappearance from the ship and sudden reappearance on the surface of Terra, and he knew that he had failed : somehow his doom had been adverted, at a terrible cost. The Angel screamed in impotent rage, and the echoes of his fury would haunt the corridors of the _Vengeful Spirit _forevermore, spawning winged, black wraiths that would prey upon the ship's crew and leave them drained of blood.

The Primarch of the Blood Angels calmed quickly, however, and immediately began to make his way out of the ship. He called to the rest of his sons and the other loyalists scattered across the vessel, and they came together, fighting their way toward one of the flight deck, where they seized a handful of gunships (there were few enough of them left that they didn't need many of them) and flew out of the _Vengeful Spirit_, broadcasting identity codes to ensure they weren't shut down by Imperial guns. They flew straight for the Imperial Palace, where Sanguinius could sense the quickly fading presence of his father.

Meanwhile, aboard the _Vengeful Spirit, _the anarchy was almost total. Horus still lived, but he had been grievously injured, even more severely than when Russ had struck him with his accursed Spear. Back then, it had taken Maloghurst's strange ritual to rouse the Primarch; this wound was even deeper, but at least there didn't appear to be any sorcery attached to it : merely the raw, burning power of the Emperor's blade. They rushed their master to the nearest Apothecarion, but a few cooler heads remembered that the First and Thirteenth Legions would soon be here. With Horus incapacitated, there was no one who could unify the renegade Legions and finish the war before the arrival of Guilliman and the Lion.

So they ran. The surviving members of the Mournival called all of their brothers and support troops on the surface to withdraw, sending messages to the other Legions and rebel forces to do the same. They didn't wait to see if they were obeyed, nor did they listen to the outraged replies of their allies. The Sons of Horus made for the edge of the system, and as they did so, the psykers among them received a vision : they saw that their father could be healed, if they took him to the Eye of Terror. Considering the reports coming from the Apothecarion, that was about the only hope the Sixteenth Legion had, and so they set course for the Occulis Terribilis. Piece by piece, the rest of the traitor armada broke off from the Siege, their entire formation collapsing without any grace. Thousands of Traitor Marines and millions of human soldiers perished who could have lived if the retreat had proceeded in good order.

As the traitors fled, Dorn found the old man carrying his father's bleeding body. Ollanius vanished before the Praetorian could say or do anything, and Dorn brought the Emperor to the Golden Throne, where the dust that had been Malcador the Sigillite still sat, undisturbed. In desperation, he placed the Master of Mankind's dying form upon the Throne, and activated the stasis field, trapping his father between life and death and connecting Him to the great psychic fire of the Astronomican.

Elsewhere in the Sol system, the moon of Saturn that held the first of the Grey Knights returned to the normal flow of time, and the warriors within the stronghold, who had spent subjective decades learning all the lore left to them by Malcador and mastering their new abilities, immediately sensed that something had gone horribly wrong in their absence. Their orders demanded that they kept themselves concealed even from the loyal Primarchs, but they sent agents to learn what had transpired in their absence, while consulting their tools of divination to learn more.

And then, at last, Kairos stopped laughing, and vanished from the Court of Change, gone to perform its craft of deception and scheming elsewhere. The two-headed Daemon Lord went into the Eye of Terror, to a world that was yet nameless. With a gesture, it shaped the earth into a citadel, and sat upon a throne at the heart of that citadel. Then it waited, knowing what must come next.


	3. The Traitors' Flight

AN : I told you this fic would have short chapters. Enjoy !

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On Terra, the Angel wept bitter tears before his father's throne, and the surviving Primarchs who had kept to their oaths gathered amidst the ruins of the Throneworld. They spoke, briefly, before leaving once more – for there was much to be done. Guilliman, Dorn, Jaghatai, Sanguinius and Russ were set on pursuing the traitors and finishing them, while Lion El'Jonson wanted to return to his homeworld of Caliban, having been taunted by daemons with the knowledge that something terrible was transpiring there in his absence.

Some among the Primarchs – Russ first among them – questioned the Lion's motivations, suspicious of his desire to leave after arriving only at the last hour of the Siege. But Sanguinius and Guilliman appeased the Wolf King, telling him that _they _knew where Lion El'Jonson and his Dark Angels had fought during the Heresy, and that while they were sworn not to discuss it (for to do so would, inevitably, have led to the revelation of the shame that was the Unremembered Empire), the First Legion's loyalty was not in question.

At Sanguinius' demand, Vulkan alone remained on Terra, to help rebuild the Throneworld as well as to guard against any new attack from the Traitor Legions. Those few Salamanders who had survived the Heresy rallied around their Primarch, rejoicing at the discover of his resurrection, and put aside their weapons to become builders, for a time. Traumatized as they were by the depredations of the Emperor's Children, the people of Terra were now terrified of the Space Marines, seeing them as inhuman giants with no care for the lives of mere mortals – only the Eighteenth Legion was regarded differently, thanks to its warriors' selfless acts of devotion and self-sacrifice during the Siege. The charcoal-skinned, red-eyed sons of Nocturne were nearly as adored as the Angel, Sanguinius himself, was – though the Primarch of the Ninth Legion would be the first to argue that, unlike him, whom the Imperium loved for his beauty, Vulkan and his sons had truly _earned _the respect and adoration of the Terrans. The Salamanders were determined not to show themselves unworthy of that faith, and set themselves to the task of rebuilding.

While the loyal Legions set upon their assigned tasks, aided by the remnants of the once-mighty Imperial warmachine, the Traitor Legions fled from the wrath of the empire they had betrayed. Their flight was far from ordered : with Horus still suspended between life and death, the horde of the Warmaster broke apart, a thousand warlords and more staking their claim upon the blood-soaked Imperium. Mortal, Astartes, or other, these lords of war sought to build their own kingdom upon the ashes of the Heresy. But the loyal Legions and their allies were stronger, and over the course of the great war that would come to be known as the Scouring, they hunted each of these fell dominions and destroyed them, one by one.

The corrupted forge-worlds of the Dark Mechanicum were obliterated, the very memory of their location scourged from the archives by the data-priests, that their heresy against the Machine-God be never repeated. Systems ruled by the iron hand of Horus-sworn tyrants were freed from their masters, before the population was inspected by the newly-founded Inquisition for signs of corruption. And the worlds that were truly lost, having succumbed to the pull of Chaos and become infested with the Neverborn, were burned to ash and less than ash, banishing the daemons. Yet the true prey of the Space Marines was their own, treacherous brethren, who were also the ones who inflicted the greatest wounds upon the Imperium in those days of bitter, desperate fighting.

The World Eaters rampaged on dozens of worlds, driven by the voice of Khorne to slaughter billions in a vain attempt to ease the pain of the Butcher's Nails. They left in their wake a trail of burned-out husks before they were caught by the loyalists, and the survivors were forced into a shameful retreat that drove them into the Eye of Terror. If there was any pity left in the hearts of the loyal Legions for their renegade kin, then perhaps it was the sons of Angron who inspired it, for they were perhaps the only ones of the Chaos Marines who suffered more than their victims did.

The Emperor's Children had been among the first to flee when Horus had fallen, their ships' hulls full of billions of captives taken from Terran megacities. Their fleets scattered through the void, though all heard the call of the Youngest God drawing them toward the Eye of Terror, the place where it had been born of the Eldar's folly. Fulgrim stayed behind, however, laying an ambush for his brother Guilliman. But again the plans of a Daemon Primarch were foiled, as Sanguinius joined his brother in their hunt aboard the _Pride of the Emperor_. Together, the Angel and the Avenging Son destroyed the incarnated form of the White Naga, banishing Fulgrim's spirit to the Empyrean.

Mortarion and his Death Guard were the last to retreat from the fields of Terra, but the Daemon Primarch and his Plague Marines were also the first to set course toward the Eye. The voice of Nurgle pulled the Lord of Death to abandon the Materium and seek refuge within the Realm of the Gods. And so it was that the Fourteenth Legion remained one of the few to stay united as it fled from Terra and into the waiting arms of the Ruinous Powers, its hierarchy intact.

Perturabo alone managed to turn the tables of the loyalists. The Lord of Iron laid down a trap for his old rival, Rogal Dorn, and trapped him within his Iron Cage, a fortress designed to bleed the Imperial Fists Legion dry. The blood and gene-seed of thousands of Seventh Legion warriors earned Perturabo the gift of daemonhood, though he was ultimately forced to flee when Sanguinius came to deliver Dorn from the Daemon Primarch's cruel labyrinth. Even after receiving the blessing of the Dark Gods, Perturabo feared Sanguinius' power, and his decision was later proven right.

Using their sorcery, the Thousand Sons retreated to their new homeworld in the Eye of Terror, arriving well ahead of the other Traitor Legions. The sons of Magnus had joined the Siege for their own reasons, and the rebels' failure was now forcing them to reconsider their options as the plague of flesh-change spread ever further among their ranks. A long-hidden secret had also been revealed to them : that it was Horus, not the Emperor, who had ordered the destruction of Prospero, altering the orders of the Space Wolves from capture to extermination. Though Magnus' choice to join Horus had been driven by other considerations, many of his sons had hungered for vengeance, and they were shocked by this sudden revelation, left wondering what path to take now.

As the Crimson King dwelled in his Tower, pondering his options, he was blind to the treachery of one of his own. With the help of a cabal of like-minded Sorcerers, Ahzek Ahriman performed a great ritual to halt the spread of the flesh-change. He succeeded, but the Rubric, as the ritual came to be known, also destroyed the immense majority of the Legion, turning the warriors without psychic powers into dust trapped within their armor, their spirit reduced to a mere spark that could be commanded by their still-living brothers. Ahzek was banished from the Planet of the Sorcerers along with his cohorts, left to wander the Eye until they regained their Primarch's favor.


	4. Rebirth in the Eye of the Gods

Aboard the _Vengeful Spirit_, the Sons of Horus were growing increasingly desperate. For the third time in the Legion's history, their Primarch was dying, and it seemed there was nothing they could do. Then the Sorcerers came to their commanders, and told them that the Dark Gods had spoken to them : Horus would survive, if they brought him to their realm. Taking command of the Legion, First Captain Abaddon ordered that the course be set for the Eye of Terror. Entering the Eye was difficult, for the Sons of Horus had never had the need to visit it, but they managed to survive its tides, though they had to force the Navigators to pass through the Cadian Gate. Once the tides receeded, they found themselves orbiting a strange world, where the Sorcerers told them _something _was waiting for them. The single structure on the planet was a citadel, which looked like something a child might have built out of sand after seeing a few strongholds but without _understanding _them.

The Sons of Horus brought their father to the fortress, its gates opening of their own accord as they approached. The deeper in they went, the more disturbing their surroundings became, as the normality of the fortress' exterior started to reflect the madness of the realm in which the Traitor Marines now dwelled. By the time they reached the throneroom, where Kairos Fateweaver waited for them, the Astartes were carrying their father's stasis sarcophagus through what seemed to be the inside of a living thing, with the walls pulsating in rhythm to distant heartbeats and gears of silver and bronze turning amidst the flesh.

_He wanted to scream, but he couldn't._

_He was frozen within a single moment of agony, the wound on his side burning through his very soul with the fire of his father's blade. There was no change in the pain : it never grew nor diminished, and he never grew used to it. He couldn't think, because his brain was suspended in stasis along with his body, but his _soul _still felt an eternity of pain._

_Finally, the pain receded, though it would never leave him completely. He opened his eyes, and saw a great two-headed humanoid bird tower above him, looking at him with malice and amusement in its black, beady eyes. There was blood dripping from its beaks, transhuman red._

'_Awaken, Prince of the Eye,' said one of the heads. 'It is time to claim your destiny.'_

'_Awaken, Sacrificed King,' said the other. 'It is time to break the chains of your fate.'_

Only four Sons of Horus entered the throneroom, carrying Horus' sarcophagus with them. For several hours, they remained secluded with the Daemon Lord, the warriors gathered outside growing more and more impatient. Then the gates opened, and Horus Lupercal strode out, flanked by only two of the four warriors who had carried him inside : Ezekyle Abaddon and Falkus Kibre. Of the two other warriors, there was no trace to be seen, anymore than there was of Kairos.

Horus had been healed, Kairos calling upon the power of Chaos that still dwelled within the Warmaster to undo the damage inflicted by the Emperor's sword – or so it seemed at first. In truth, though Horus was up and walking, and _seemed _completely healed, the wound was still raw, threatening to tear open with every move. The Master of Mankind had struck Horus on his flank, opposite to where Russ had struck him with the Spear given to him by their father months ago. _That _wound had nearly killed him, and this one had been a magnitude of order worse. Under his repaired armor, Horus was still bleeding, still in pain, though he made sure not to show it to his sons.

They left the false fortress, which collapsed right after they exited it. There Horus adressed his sons, who had all come down to the daemon world, awaiting news of their father. Their great rebellion, for which they had thrown away everything they had ever been and believed in, had failed : now more than ever, they needed the First Primarch to speak to them, to tell them what they would do in this strange realm where they now found themselves. Thousands of Legionaries stood at attention, roaring their joy as their Primarch emerged from the fortress, seemingly restored.

In one hand, Horus held _Worldbreaker_, while the other was clad in the Talon of Horus, still red with the Emperor's own vitae. The Warmaster raised the claws up for all to see the bloody evidence of his deeds, and began to speak. He told them of how he had faced his father aboard the _Vengeful Spirit_, how he had been struck down at the same time he had dealt a mortal blow to the tyrant, and how he had been healed by the interventions of the Warp-dwelling Powers with which they had allied themselves against the False Emperor.

He told them how they could not return to the galaxy right now : his loyalist brothers, blind to their father's true nature, would destroy them if they did. They needed to rebuild first, here in this realm where the Imperials could not follow. Though the rebels had been defeated, they had achieved their primary goal, the great cause for which they had turned against the Emperor in the first place : the self-proclaimed Master of Mankind was dead, and His plans to enslave Humanity in order to achieve godhood were dust. He reminded them of how, when he had first made the choice to rebel, he had asked them what they would be willing to sacrifice to accomplish that goal.

Horus spoke of the wonders they would find and create, of the glory they would earn in the Eye, where the slaves of the False Emperor could not pursue them. He exposed to them his vision of a new empire, built free from the shackles of the False Emperor and His councils of petty bureaucrats. Let the leaderless Imperium believe them dead, or imprisoned within the madness of the Eye. Here they would rebuild, prepare, and when the time was right they would return to the galaxy and take the remains of the Imperium for their own. It would be a long and difficult journey, and there was no doubt that they would face many trials on the way, but the Warmaster promised to his sons that in the end, they would prevail. And they believed him, because they had nothing else left but him.

The reconstruction process would begin on this daemon world, which Horus named Maeleum. There the Sons of Horus built their great stronghold, Lupercalia, upon the very site of the false fortress where their Primarch had been healed. They experimented with the strange properties of the daemon world, discovering that a strong will could reshape its surroundings as it pleased – and no will was stronger than that of Horus. The Warmaster imposed his will upon Maeleum, creating a large river flowing from the heart of Lupercalia that could be used as water sources (though even Horus' will could not create clean water outright, and it had to be filtered and purified before being fit for consumption). Lesser strongholds were built as the Sons of Horus tightened their hold on the planet, each the domain of an officer of the Legion.

The tech-priests of the Dark Mechanicum aboard the Sixteenth Legion's fleet explored the system, discovering several areas rich in mineral resources, which they immediately set about exploiting in order to repair the battered ships of their Astartes masters. Space stations and orbital docks were constructed around Maeleum, while small flotillas were sent out to explore the Eye of Terror and locate the resources required to build the new empire. Horus gave another task to these warbands : they were to find if any of their allies had also made it to the Eye, and establish contact so that the great army that had laid siege to Terra might be forged anew.


	5. The Battle of Skalathrax

News eventually reached Maeleum that forces from other Legions had been discovered. Elements of the Third and Twelfth Legions had been sighted by the exploring warbands, wandering the outer regions of the Eye. It was difficult to get precise numbers, but the scouts were confident that thousands of Legionaries had arrived in the Eye, scattered by the currents of the Warp.

Immediately, Horus left Maeleum aboard the _Vengeful Spirit_, seeking to bring these wandering warriors under his banner. The growing domain of the Sons of Horus was left in the care of Abaddon, Horus' most trusted son. It would later transpire that the Warmaster had departed not a moment too soon, for when he found the Emperor's Children and the World Eaters, they were on the verge of doing what the Imperium had failed to accomplish : destroying each other for good.

After arriving in the Eye, the forces of both Legions had slowly coalesced together, and had finally met in a system with a single world, one afflicted by violent nocturnal storms that not even Space Marines could survive. That world had been named Skalathrax by Khârn, Eighth Captain of the Twelfth Legion and Equerry to Angron, who was said to have died on Terra only to be resurrected by the God of War as the World Eaters left reality and entered the Eye of Terror.

The reunion of the two Legions had been extremely tense, for though few warriors understood it yet, the Emperor's Children and the World Eaters belonged to opposing Ruinous Powers, and the contempt that had always existed between them was now simmering into hate. The Lord-Commander Eidolon, who led the Emperor's Children in Fulgrim's absence, had called for parley, and Khârn had accepted, proposing that the leaders of both hosts meet on the planet's surface.

Eidolon had intended to send an emissary rather than meet Khârn in person. However, the Eighth Captain saw through his intent, and made the Lord-Commander's presence a condition to the discussion. Amused that the brute had been able to anticipate him, Eidolon had accepted, though he had asked in return that Khârn only bring with him a far smaller escort than the one Eidolon would travel to Skalathrax with. Khârn, seemingly uncaring of the disrespect of the offer, had agreed.

'_This is madness. You cannot mean to do this, Khârn. I have fifty warriors at my side ! What do you have ? A handful of blood-crazed barbarians ?'  
_'_I have my axe. I have my fists. I have the Nails. That is more than enough.'  
_From the meeting of Khârn and Eidolon

The meeting degenerated into a slaughter, with Eidolon and Khârn being the only ones to walk away from it alive. This was no small feat for the World Eaters, given that they had been outnumbered ten to one at the meeting, and that the Lord-Commander had brought one of his pet daemons with him, a fiend known as Hedonarch and quite highly placed in the Dark Prince's choirs. Yet Khârn, wielding the axe Gorechild, had slaughtered the guards and entourage of Eidolon before forcing the Lord-Commander to flee for his life (though of course Eidolon told a different story to his men). The war began while the two lords were still in their transports, as the fleets activated the weapon arrays that had been kept dormant during the meeting as a gesture of good faith.

With the crews of both Legions still adapting their training to the impossible physics of the Eye of Terror, the war had to be taken planetside. Thousands of Space Marines, hundreds of thousands of mortals, and the accompanying tanks and artillery were brought on Skalathrax's surface. The Emperor's Children brought horrors of flesh from their unholy laboratories, and hordes of debased, mind-blasted cultists whose veins contained more drugs than blood. The sands of Skalathrax ran red, until the sun began to set, and the storms came, the temperature plummeting far below the point of freezing water. Only then did the battle end, as the forces of both Legions retreated, leaving the corpses of the dead to freeze where they had fallen.

For six days, the pattern repeated itself. The Legions would fight from dawn till dusk, and withdraw once Skalathrax itself made further conflict impossible. Then, on the seventh day, Horus arrived. The _Vengeful Spirit _and her escorting fleet emerged at the system's edge, catching the fleets of the two Legions by surprise. The Warmaster saw what was happening as reports flooded in from the fleet's auspexes. He immediately understood what had occurred, and he was not pleased.

"_Enough.  
__I will not allow this madness to continue.  
__We are banished from my father's kingdom, cast out by those we called brothers, because we sought to free Mankind from the manipulations of a tyrant. All of us joined this cause for our own reasons, and that is well, for freedom is what we fought for.  
__But this … this is a travesty, and I will not stand for it.  
__This ends. Now."  
_From the proclamation of Horus at the Battle of Skalathrax

The sheer presence of Horus, and the might of the fleet that accompanied him, were enough to force a truce between the warring factions. Companies of Sons of Horus descended upon the battlefields of Skalathrax as dusk fell and the cold forced each side to retreat to their shelters. With the hand of the Warmaster guiding them, they effectively took hostage the forces on the daemon world, forcing the commanders of both armies to the negotiation table.

Both Khârn and Eidolon were summoned to the _Vengeful Spirit, _without any honor guard this time. They came to the strategium through separate corridors, escorted by black-clad Terminators of the Justaerin, and faced Horus' judgement in the same chamber where the Siege of Terra had been planned in the last days of the rebellion. Horus expressed his displeasure, and demanded that they explain themselves. The Lord-Commander waxed on, dramatically retelling how Khârn had breached the truce and attacked him and his escort, slaughtering them all with unthinking brutality – even turning on his own brothers once Eidolon had escaped. The son of Fulgrim delected in the situation – as a true devotee of the Dark Prince, every sensation was to be savored, and there were few feelings rarer than the wrath of the Warmaster. Eventually, his tale came to an end, and Horus asked Khârn to tell his side of the story, that he may weigh their testimonies with the evidence his Legion's investigators had already gathered. For several seconds, Khârn remained silent.

Then he drew Gorechild, and leapt at Horus, the weapon raised, its dragon's teeth roaring with a thirst for blood it shared with its wielder. He moved with speed beyond mere transhuman abilities, but was still no match for Horus' reflexes. The Warmaster struck with Worldbreaker, the mace catching the World Eater mid-jump and sending him flying across the room. Most Astartes would have been dead, but Khârn rose, facing Horus in his anger. For a few seconds, the two of them stared at one another, with Eidolon witnessing the scene with baited breath. Then, Khârn turned and fled, killing every Son of Horus in his way before taking a gunship to the closest Twelfth Legion vessel and forcing its captain to depart Skalathrax while the confusion was still reigning.

In hindsight, it became clear that Khârn's flight had been facilitated by one of the Ruinous Powers – no matter how deadly the World Eater champion might be, escaping the _Vengeful Spirit _alone was something even Malcador's hand-picked agents hadn't been able to do during the rebellion. But, through a series of unlikely coincidences and the sheer brutality of the World Eater, Khârn managed to escape the Warmaster's wrath, departing through the storm toward some unknown destination.

For this, the Eighth Captain of the World Eaters was named the Betrayer, a name that would follow him everywhere he went. But Khârn still had the favor of the Blood God, and many would seek to manipulate him to kill their enemies for them in the years to come – though more often than not, they ended up dead by his hand as well. Some would claim that Khârn had actually died on Terra, at the hands of the defenders of the Imperial Palace, and that his apparent resurrection had been a daemon's trick : nothing more than a disguised possession of a dead body. The motive for such an act varied depending on the teller : some said the daemon wanted to claim the World Eaters as its own, others that it wanted to destroy the Third Legion or the Twelfth, and others still thought it had all been a ploy in order to get close to Horus, just for the chance to strike at him with Gorechild, which was one of the few weapons that could still harm what the Warmaster had become. To most, however, these theories were nothing more than wishful thinking trying to justify a madman's act.

Despite Khârn's escape, the Battle of Skalathrax confirmed that the other rebel Legions were making their way toward the Eye of Terror. The World Eaters and the Emperor's Children both had Primarchs who had shed their last ties to mortality and ascended to daemonhood, and now Angron and Fulgrim were calling their sons to join them in the Eye, where they had been reborn following their dissolutions at Terra. Though the hatred between the two Legions was strong, Horus managed to force them both to follow his command for the time being by offering them the one thing they all desired : a chance to be reunited with their Primarchs. Horus was, after all, the Warmaster of Chaos, chosen by the Ruinous Powers to bring down the False Emperor.

Grudgingly, and with the _Vengeful Spirit _between them, the World Eaters and Emperor's Children accompanied Horus back to the dominion of the Sixteenth Legion. Skalathrax was abandoned, left to the ghosts of the thousands who had died for nothing on its surface – a testament to the self-destructive nature of the Dark Gods that would stand for thousands of years to come.


	6. The Torment of the Night Haunter

Though most Traitor Legions fled to the Eye of Terror in the wake of their defeat at Terra, the Night Lords did not – at least, not immediately. Apart from the Alpha Legion, the Night Lords were the only Legion following Horus who had not wholly embraced Chaos, though that was more due to a lack of proper leadership for the Ruinous Powers to influence and manipulate than to any moral fiber the child-killers of Nostramo may possess. Of all the Traitor Legions, the Eighth had long been the most feared and despised, long before the Warmaster had raised the banner of rebellion.

Scattered across the galaxy at the end of the Thramas Crusade and their Primarch's disappearance, the Night Lords had no unified chain of command. Only a portion of the Legion had taken part in the Siege of Terra, led by warlords who sought the glory of burning the Throneworld, or had thought to earn the Warmaster's favor by adding their forces to his. And when Horus fell at the Emperor's blade, they were all too quick to abandon the fight, retreating from the Solar system.

Fleeing from the retribution of the Imperials, these Night Lords eventually came together on Tsagualsa, which had once served as their stronghold during the Heresy. There they found their missing Primarch, Konrad Curze, waiting for them after his long absence, which had caused many of his sons to believe him dead. The Night Haunter, whose insanity had grown progressively worse during the rebellion, was now on the very edge of complete madness, as the future he had believed fixed had proved to be mutable after all. Sanguinius hadn't died on the _Vengeful Spirit _as both Konrad and the Angel had thought, had _known _he would, and the fragile edifice of justifications and twisted beliefs used by the Primarch to avoid facing the full extant of his sins was collapsing.

Despite their father's manifest instability and the doubts many of them had expressed about his leadership in the past, like broken dogs returning to an abusive master, the Night Lords once more bent the knee to their gene-sire. News of Curze's reappearance spread, and the scattered forces of the Eighth Legion gathered at Tsagualsa, leaving trails of traumatized worlds in their wake. There, in a brief moment of clarity, Curze commanded that his Legion immediately leave for the Eye of Terror. There, he told his sons, they would find Horus Lupercal, and the Warmaster would give him the answers he needed to decide on the Legion's future course.

With the Primarch's sanity still fluctuating wildly and the First Captain Sevatar missing, overall command of the Night Lords fell to a newly reunited Kyroptera. Those members of the exalted circle who had been elevated to it by Sevatar after the disastrous Thramas Crusade and had survived the following years of conflict formed the core of the group, complemented by other warlords who had proven their cunning and might (or who simply had too many warriors or resources under their command to ignore). Bound by the will of the Night Haunter, the Kyroptera made preparations for the Night Lords to abandon Tsagualsa and follow the rest of the Traitor Legions to the Eye.

Konrad Curze entered the Eye at the head of a fleet of tens of thousands of Legionaries, which was perhaps the largest single military force in the entire Eye of Terror, due to the dispersion of the other Traitor Legions. Only the Sons of Horus under the Warmaster could match the number of Astartes in the Night Haunter's great armada. But those numbers counted for little against the dangers of the Eye. Here, in the grave-birth of Slaanesh, reality was shaped by the sins and hidden desires of the living and the dead, and Konrad Curze's spirit blazed very bright indeed, though it was a pale and baleful light. The moment the Eighth Legion entered the Eye, it was beset by the manifestations of its Primarch's nightmares – abominable things spawned from his broken psyche.

The Night Lords fought, led by their Captains and Lords, while the Primarch remained aboard his flagship, battling against the powers, the self-doubt and self-hatred that would see him and his Legion destroyed. Eventually, the nightmares relented, and the Eighth Legion found itself near a world orbiting a black, lightless star, that nonetheless radiated a baleful heat upon the daemon world. Upon that world were vast mountains of black mineral, which was bitterly familiar to the scanners of the Eighth Legion : adamantium, an entire world worth of it, far more than there had ever been on the Legion's lost homeworld of Nostramo.

Though the planet was cold and devoid of life, it was not uninhabited. Millions of pale humanoids wandered amidst the obsidian mountains : the souls of every criminal the Eighth Legion had ever slain, condemned to be reborn in a cruel un-life, their previous lives half-remembered, fit only to torment them with the knowledge that they had once been alive. A great number of these damned souls came from Nostramo, the world that the Night Lords had destroyed at the command of their Primarch, watching it burn and crack apart under the focused fire of their fleet. There were many more from all the worlds the Eighth Legion had brought to compliance and butchered during the rebellion, but out of all those the Night Lords had slaughtered, less than one in a hundred had been judged corrupt enough to be dragged from the Empyrean and cast upon this daemon world.

As the Kyroptera wondered about the strangeness of this world, Konrad Curze emerged from his isolation. His cursed sight had granted him a vision : this unholy world held the key to his fate, if he would but descend upon it. At his command, the Night Lords descended upon the daemon world _en masse_, thousands of midnight-clad Legionaries falling from the Warp-torn heavens. The damned ran from them in terror, remembering the image of the bat-winged skull even through the shroud that laid upon their minds. For now, the Night Lords did not pursue : they followed their lord as he walked amidst the ragged, sharp edges of adamantium, seeking something, not knowing what.

Eventually, deep within a valley borded by high, black peaks, Konrad found the entrance to a cave. He bade his warriors wait for him outside, and descended into the heart of the daemon world. What he found there, none but the Dark Gods know, but when he returned, he was transfigured.

'_N-no ...'_

'_**Yes.'**_

'_It … it cannot be ...'_

'_**It is. It must. It has always been.'**_

'_But … vindication ...'_

'_**Is a lie. Give in. Let go, Konrad. Let go of your regrets. Let go of your weakness. Become … what you **_**know ****_you must be.'_**

'_Ah … aaaAAAAHHHAAAAAAAA**AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA !'**_

Gone was the wasting, melancholic figure of the madman whose grip on sanity had ever been slipping : Curze had embraced the evil that defined him in the eyes of the Imperium wholly. His hands were dripping in some black ichor that burned through the adamantium as it dripped. His skeletal-thin body was overflowing with the energies of the Warp, and for the first time he felt that the visions granted to him by his second sight were clear. He now knew what awaited him, what he had always been fated to : an eternity of judgment, punishing those who had sinned – and _every _soul in the galaxy was guilty in the eyes of the reforged Night Haunter. He could see his future and that of his sons, and it was _glorious. _His warriors, upon seeing him emerge from the cave, fell to their knees, shouting their devotion to their King of the Night, and Curze bathed in their worship, and smiled. It was the first time he had ever done so in response to his sons displaying their love and fear of him : perhaps that should have been a warning to the Night Lords of what was to come.

The Night Haunter named this world Kerlazium, which in Nostraman meant "Resurrection", and set his sons to the task of bringing punishment to the damned that inhabited it. They set to their work with great enthusiasm, for the cruelty that had been their hallmark during the Great Crusade and the Heresy that had followed had only grown since their entry into the realm of the Dark Gods. And the damned, while already dead, were incredibly resilient, able to withstand punishment that would have killed a hundred men before finally dissolving into mewling ectoplasm, all trace of their former identity erased by the tortures they had endured.

Soon, it was discovered that the damned, when tortured, produced a strange, crimson liquid, akin to blood but inbued with strange energies. Drinking that liquid provided a living being, be they mortal or Astartes, with a rush of sensation and strength, as well as healing wounds and serving as nourishment – the only sustenance that could be harvested on the cold, lifeless rock that was Kerlazium. The Night Lords began to harvest this liquid, which they named _akhrali, _and used it to fuel their own transhuman bodies and that of their mortal slaves. The Warp, with typical dark humor, had granted Curze's greatest wish : now, the torments he inflicted would serve a _purpose._

With the labour of the damned, the sons of Konrad Curze built great palaces of pain, where millions of souls were subjected to unspeakable torments while the Night Lords themselves attended to the damned who deserved their personal attention for their sins. Whether there was any true justice in how the fate of the damned was decided, only the Dark Gods know.

The bulk of the damned were herded into the mines that exploited the adamantium, using the material to repair the Legion's damaged ships. The favored mortals of the Night Lords were allowed to build cities among the priceless black stone, protected from the depredations of their most degenerate masters by those who retained a modicum, if not of honor or compassion, then pragmatism. Under the leadership of Zso Sahaal, Talonmaster and First Captain of the Legion, those few warriors clinging to their sanity and the prospect of the Long War built a kingdom under the endless night. They traded the spoils of industry to the torturer clans, in exchange for the essence they needed to sustain themselves and their servants.

Curze built his own palace at the center of this kingdom, and the greatest monsters among the rest of his sons came to visit him and pay tribute, forcing the faithful of the Long War to witness first-hand the corruption that was seeping into their Legion – a corruption that originated from their Primarch, who had in the Eye become at last what he had always threatened to be. Yet their loyalty to the Night Haunter remained unshakeable, whether by devotion or dread.

In time, Horus came to Kerlazium, drawn by the echoes of the Night Lords' atrocities. In the chambers of the Living Palace, built from the meshed flesh of slaves and damned alike, the Warmaster conferred with the Night Haunter, away from the eyes and ears of their sons. For an entire day, the two Primarchs spoke, and when they were done, Curze had agreed to take part in the Warmaster's next grand endeavour : a conclave, gathering all the exiled sons of the False Emperor, to discuss the War that must be waged against the Tyrant of Terra and His slaves.


	7. The Gathering of the Conclave

After having learned that Curze had arrived to the Eye and made contact with him, Horus began to plan for a great gathering of his brothers, in order to rebuild the alliance that had nearly destroyed the Imperium and ushered in a new age for Mankind.

Horus knew that Magnus must already be there : the Thousand Sons had been the first to make their lair in the Eye after Prospero's destruction, and their sorcery would have make their retreat after the defeat of Terra quicker than that of any other Legion. There had been no sign of Magnus' children since the Siege, but the Warmaster knew that they must be there. There was nowhere else for them to go, and after surviving the Burning and the rebellion, Horus very much doubted there existed anything that could truly destroy the Fifteenth Legion once and for all.

He also knew that his brother Lorgar had fled to the Eye after he had humiliated and banished him from the war effort at Ullanor, due to his feeble attempt at killing Horus and replacing him as leader of the rebellion. In addition, the Urizen had been the first Primarch to physically journey to the Eye of Terror, long before the others had conceived of rebellion (save perhaps Angron, who had craved the Emperor's death from the very moment he had met their creator and be cheated of his own doom). Furthermore, Horus had heard from the daemons that had whispered in his ears through the last section of the rebellion that Kor Phaeron, Lorgar's adoptive father, had arrived in the Eye after his defeat at Calth and had claimed the daemon world of Sicarius in the name of his Legion. No doubt Lorgar had already made his way there, to be joined by the rest of his Legion.

Fulgrim's defeat at Guilliman's and Sanguinius' hands had echoed through the Empyrean, and Mortarion's orderly retreat to the Eye was known to the Sixteenth Legion. The Warp sung of Perturabo's great victory over Dorn, even if the Lord of Iron had been interrupted before he had been able to claim the Praetorian's life.

As for Alpharius … who knew. Even Horus himself had not known all of the Hydra's moves during the rebellion, and after the muster at Ullanor, there had been no sign of his brother Primarch, though members of the Twentieth Legion had taken part in the Siege, seemingly of their own volition. But the Warmaster did not doubt, even for a moment, that Alpharius would know of the gathering, and come if he so wished. Such was the way of the Alpha Legion.

And so Horus sent his call. Those Sons of Horus who had been Librarians before the rebellion had long since learned to throw off the limitations of the Edict of Nikaea, becoming full-fledged Sorcerers, and with their help the Warmaster sent forth his summons on the aetheric tides.

For the first time in years, Horus was forced to think like a diplomat, rather than a conqueror. Since the end of the Great Crusade, the Warmaster had put aside diplomacy, instead offering the systems he crossed a simple choice : submission or destruction. The overwhelming power and momentum of the rebellion had allowed him to dispense with the niceties, but now, with the armies he had gathered broken and his own defeat at the Emperor's hands – even though it had been more of a mutual defeat than a victory for any of them – things were different. He could not simply command his brothers to attend him and expect them to answer, let alone follow his orders in the Long War to come. There was to much baggage between them, too many grudges.

Horus knew that asking his brothers to come to Maeleum, the stronghold of his Legion, would be a poor diplomatic gesture, and so instead his message called for a gathering on what would hopefully be considered neutral ground by all Primarchs : the remnants of a dead Eldar Craftworld once called Zu'lasa, destroyed during its launch by Slaanesh. There, for the first time since they had met above the black sands of Isstvan V, the nine Primarchs who had betrayed the Emperor met.

As the host of the gathering, Horus was the first to arrive. The Warmaster came to the ruins of Zu'lasa in full regalia, wearing his black armor and fur cloak, holding _Worldbreaker _in one hand and the Talon on the other. The Eye of Horus was emblazoned upon his chestplate, a crimson and black orb that glowed with the same eldritch radiance that radiated from the Primarch's cybernetic cowl. He came alone, leaving his Mournival aboard the _Vengeful Spirit_, to monitor the movement of the other arrivals and keep watch for any sign of treachery.

For several hours, he walked the corridors of the dead Craftworld, taking in the traces of the desperate battle that had been fought by the Eldar as the daemons of Slaanesh swarmed the great vessel. Then he came to what had once been a temple dedicated to Khaine, the Bloody-Handed God of War that the xenos had worshipped before their entire pantheon was destroyed by the Dark Prince. The statue of the Avatar was still there, its pieces scattered across the room, each carefully defaced by the claws of the Neverborn.

Horus sat upon a fragment of the dead god's head, and waited for his brothers to arrive. Whether because they had answered his call promptly or because the Eye's time-warping effects were working in his favor, he did not have to wait for long, and they all arrived nearly at the same time.

Perturabo came with all the discipline one might expect from him. His fleet emerged from the storm in perfect formation, the _Ironblood _looming at its heart. The proud Gloriana-Class battleship already showed signs of its time in the Eye, as well as under the command of its newly ascended Daemon Primarch. Tendrils of living metal threateningly floated around it, and gun emplacements sprouted from vast sections of the hull that were covered in a mix of hardened flesh and machine.

The Lord of Iron came to Zu'lasa with eight of his Iron Circle. His transformation had removed the malady that had afflicted him since Fulgrim's assassination attempt on Iydris, and more : now Perturabo was taller than ever before, and radiated an aura of power that was second only to that of Horus himself. The Daemon Primarch went straight to the chamber where Horus was waiting, teleporting directly aboard the Craftworld using the new, Warp-touched technology his Legion was already developing in the wake of his ascension and their exile in the Eye.

'_Perturabo. I am glad you arrived before the others. There is much we need to discuss in private.'  
_'_**Horus. Why did you call us ?'  
**_'_Because, brother, as you have shown us, our defeat at Terra does not mean we have lost the war.'  
__The Lord of Iron smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. It promised destruction and ruin, the annihilation of worlds and the drowning of hope in cold, unfeeling tyranny.  
_'_**I am listening.'**_

When the Night Lords arrived, the very Warp parted before them, recoiling from the madness of Konrad Curze. The Eighth Legion had come in force from Kerlazium. Thousands of Legionaries from the Tormentor faction had flocked to their Primarch, while the Long War loyalists had once again been tasked with ensuring the actual transportation of the Night Haunter. Aboard the _Umbrea Insidior, _flagship of the 1st Company, Konrad Curze laughed as the fleet travelled to Zu'lasa, absent-mindedly carving captive damned to shreds while thinking of all the potential futures he could see stretching from the coming gathering. Once the fleet arrived, easily twice as numerous as that of the Fourth Legion though not nearly as disciplined, the Night Haunter called five of his sons, seemingly at random, to accompany him as he went to the Craftworld. Three of the five were members of the Long War faction, while the remaining two had been falling further and further down into the corruption of the Warp. Only the presence of their Primarch kept these favored sons from turning on each other during the journey, such was the growing chasm forming between the Legion's factions.

Unlike his brothers, Magnus did not need to use a ship to travel. The Crimson King simply manifested himself on Zu'lasa, using his immense power and mastery of sorcery to transport himself and nine of his closest sons from the Planet of the Sorcerers to the Craftworld. Each of the nine Thousand Sons were powerful Sorcerers, chosen from among the few who had survived the disastrous Rubric of Ahriman with their minds intact.

Lorgar's flagship, the Abyss-Class _Trisagion_, came alone, its Geller fields inactive. Instead of being protected from the madness of the Warp by the ancient technology, the Word Bearers had elected to placate the Gods by crucifying thousands of slaves to the vessel's hull, binding their souls to their flesh with sorcery so that they could not simply die of void exposure. Left as playthings for the Neverborn, these unfortunate souls – all of whom were cultists of Chaos who had volunteered for the honor – had suffered untold torments. A few of the most resilient or unlucky were still "alive", transformed beyond recognition by the whims of the Warp. They would be harvested by the Word Bearers before the ship's next journey, to be either added to the Legion's horde of horrors, or to be dissected so that the will of the Gods may be divined from their blessed entrails.

The Aurelian came to Zu'lasa with his two closest, once-disgraced advisors : Kor Phaeron, his adoptive father, and Erebus, along with a group of seventeen figures in hooded black robes, all of them mortal-sized. While he was still mortal, he radiated the power of Chaos in a barely-controlled storm of energy that was contained only through a supreme effort of will. His golden skin glowed with an infernal inner light, and the sigils carved upon his armor shone with the same illumination.

The Death Guard of Mortarion was shrouded in thick clouds of flies, whose buzzing was somehow heard even across the void of space. The _Endurance _was accompanied by a scattering of lesser vessels, all of which bore the signs of Nurgle's affection for the Fourteenth Legion. The gunship that carried Mortarion and his Deathshroud to Zu'lasa was almost more insect than machine, and the fluids that leaked from its engines attacked the ground it landed on, creating a slowly expanding patch of black, wet rot identical to the ones left wherever the Death Lord stepped.

Angron's arrival was heralded by a great scream, and a wave of blood-red fire spread across the roiling clouds of Warp energy. The _Conqueror _emerged from the inferno, its once-white surface now the color of dried blood, the Daemon Primarch of Khorne standing on the vessel's hull, his bat-like wings spread wide as he drank in the raw energies of Chaos. Calling the Red Angel had been one of the most difficult parts of arranging the gathering, as Angron had never been one for formality, even before he had been stripped of the last shreds of his humanity on Nuceria. No one knew what had become of him after the Siege, but his continued survival was guaranteed, as he had become as immortal as any daemon upon his unholy transformation.

To make sure he would be there, Horus had called upon the ancient ties of loyalty that bounded him to his brother, and used the eight commanders of the World Eaters who had survived Skalathrax to amplify his summon. As Angron flew the distance between the _Conqueror _and the ruined Craftworld, these eight warlords departed from their ships, which had been waiting nearby. Since Skalathrax, they had ruled the Twelfth Legion under Horus' leadership in a joint council. Now, they returned to the side of their true master, the one for whom they had willingly inflicted the Nails upon themselves. Only they knew what transpired between them and the Red Angel when they met, but all eight of them were still alive when Angron reached the meeting chamber.

From the depths of the Craftworld, where the Neverborn had performed unspeakable acts upon the spiritual leaders of the would-be Eldar exiles, Fulgrim manifested in all his terrible glory. The White Naga slithered out of the warped bones and echoing nightmares of the dead, passing from his own realm through the stain upon reality that the daemons' deeds had permanently etched upon reality. Where he passed, the ghosts of the Eldar were dragged back from oblivion, manifesting as ethereal shapes that writhed in pain as they were forced to relive their last moments. Fulgrim smiled as he advanced, and softly sung to himself a melody that was as beautiful as it was discordant, adding to the suffering of the alien shades. The wraithbone shuddered and twisted at his presence, reshaping itself into the image of screaming faces and obscene daemonic figures.

Alpharius, or at least a warrior claiming that identity, was the last to make his presence known, though Horus knew he must have been there before any others – possibly before the Warmaster himself. The lord of the Hydra simply emerged from behind a broken pillar once all the other Primarchs were gathered, taking his place among them as if he had always been there. His brothers, both living and immortal, looked upon him with suspicion, but did not question or challenge him. He was alone, and carried no weapon greater than a bolter and a combat knife sheathed at his belt, yet he did not display any sign of nervousness as he stood among Daemon Primarchs and the chosen champions of the Dark Gods. Curze barked a laugh as his brother's appearance, and clapped, the talons of his gauntlets clashing together in an unpleasant ring.

So began what the historians of the Eye would, in time, come to call the Broken Conclave.


	8. The Broken Conclave

Horus spoke to his brothers, and they listened. Even Fulgrim, who loathed letting anyone but himself holding the spotlight; even Angron, whose every thought was consumed by bloodlust, hatred and pain. The Warmaster did not try to assign blame for their defeat at Terra. Instead, he claimed that while they had been forced to retreat, they had still succeeded in accomplishing the rebellion's first and most important goal. Horus raised his Talon, and all present saw the red streaks of the Emperor's own blood, forever marking the metal of the weapon forged by Kelbor-Hal.

Though Horus was careful not to proclaim the False Emperor dead yet, he confidently declared that He had been crippled, His plans to enslave Mankind and turn the species into fodder for His ascension to godhood in ruins. Now, they, the true heirs of the Great Crusade's legacy, must free the galaxy from His lies and carve the future of Mankind across the stars.

It was as Horus was about to lay down his vision for the Long War that Lorgar made his move. By that point, less than ten minutes had passed since the last arrival and the beginning of the Conclave.

"_No matter how you try to disguise it, the truth remains, brother. You lost. You failed, just as I knew you would. You are weak, Horus. You held the galaxy in your grasp and you let it slip away."  
_Lorgar to Horus, at the Broken Conclave

Lorgar drew his weapon, the crozius named _Illuminarum_, which had been forged for him by Ferrus Manus in an earlier, more innocent age. As he did so, Erebus and Kor Phaeron spoke un-words of command, and the seventeen figures which had accompanied the Aurelian threw off their hoods, revealing themselves as Daemonhosts of great power, their true nature concealed thus far by the ritual wardings carved onto the flesh of their mortal vessels. Bound by the will of the Dark Apostle and the Master of the Faith, these infernal creations of the Word Bearers launched themselves at Horus, while Lorgar gathered his own power to strike, reciting words from a language that had been dead before Mankind had risen from Old Earth's primordial slime.

At the sight of Lorgar's assault, the other Primarchs began to move to intervene, though it wasn't certain in whose favor. But before any of them could reach the confrontation, Magnus the Red and his sons raised a barrier separating Horus and his would-be killers from the rest of the room. The Crimson King glared at the Warmaster, his one eye filled with hatred.

"_Did you really think I did not know who it was that told Russ to kill me and my sons ? Did you really think me so blind to your manipulations, brother ? I knew. I have always known, from the moment the Wolves came to burn all that I had wrought. And now, you will pay."  
_Magnus to Horus, at the Broken Conclave

Seeking vengeance for the fate of Prospero, Magnus had contacted Lorgar as soon as the call to the Conclave had been sent. The Crimson King and the Aurelian had once been friends as well as brothers, before Magnus' reticence in helping Lorgar's downfall to Chaos and his own growing madness after his maiming at Russ' hands had soured their relationship. Speaking mind-to-mind over incomprehensible distances, the two Primarchs had forged an alliance, united in their common opposition to Horus. Both of them wanted the Warmaster dead, and the Conclave was their best shot at eliminating him.

Even as Horus fought off the Daemonhosts, he could see his hopes of uniting the Traitor Legions under his leadership once more turn to dust in the corner of his eyes. The divisive nature of Chaos was reasserting itself now that Lorgar had broken the truce.

Enraged by the use of sorcery, Angron lost what little control he had, and launched himself at the Crimson King. His first blow was repelled by another psychic shield, and before he could strike again, Fulgrim burrowed a long, needle-thin blade into his back, laughing all the while. Mortarion attacked Magnus as well, his long-held disdain of sorcery only strengthened by his allegiance to Nurgle, the Dark God opposed to Tzeentch, Magnus' own puppetmaster. Perturabo's Iron Circle had surrounded him, shielding him from the mayhem while the Lord of Iron watched it all unfold with dispassionate eyes. Alpharius was already gone, vanished back into the shadows from which he had appeared, and Curze was observing the scene with a wide, crazed smile while his warriors remained at his side, weapons drawn, but unsure what their lord wanted them to do.

All of this happened in the time it took Horus to dispatch all seventeen Daemonhosts. Less than ten seconds had passed since the beginning of the hostilities, but it had been enough for Lorgar to gather his strength. With a great cry that was half-triumph, half-prayer to the Dark Gods, Lorgar unleashed his spell upon the Warmaster.

The curse was ancient, and amplified by Lorgar's terrible power. Reality cracked and bled as it flew, leaving a trail blackness through which hungry eyes peered, only to withdraw as they took in just who was present on the other side of the rift. It struck Horus in the chest, and for a moment the Warmaster stumbled, his face paling, the dark fire of his aura flickering.

Then, suddenly, Horus stood straight, his eyes aflame with power, Lorgar's curse slipping from him impotently. He marched toward Lorgar, who raised his weapon in defence, only for _Illuminarum _to be knocked aside by a casual blow before Horus rammed the Talon into his chest with such strength that the armored Primarch was lifted up the ground. As the claws of the Talon met the wards of Lorgar's armor, a psychic shockwave filled the room, and the four Daemon Primarchs felt their power diminish as the attention of their patron gods was now turned elsewhere.

Lorgar, his chest pierced by the Talon, his blood flowing from the wounds in torrent, ignited. On the verge of death, the Arch-Priest of the Primordial Truth was receiving his masters' ultimate blessing – and their most terrible curse. The blades of the Talon slipped free as Lorgar's gene-forged flesh dissolved. A horned, blazing skull glared at the Warmaster, before a blow from _Worldbreaker_ shattered the hold on corporeality of the newly ascended Daemon Primarch. With a bitter laugh and the promise that this was merely the beginning of Horus' torments, Lorgar vanished. With his departure, the ambient Warp energies plummeted, and the four other God-marked Daemon Primarchs also faded away, Angron with a terrible scream of rage, Fulgrim with a pristine, mocking laughter, Mortarion with a series of Barbarian curses, and Magnus with one last enigmatic glance at Horus before drawing his sons along with him. Only Perturabo remained, his physical form maintained by the technomancy infused within his Warped flesh.

Horus turned to where Erebus and Kor Phaeron had stood, but the two Word Bearers were also gone, using their sorcery to escape his wrath and flee back to the _Trisagion_, which was already turning to plunge back into the storm. The rest of the gathered ships were also departing, only the _Vengeful Spirit_ and the _Umbrea Insidior_ remaining behind. After one last exchange with Horus, Perturabo teleported back aboard the _Ironblood,_ and left Zu'lasa as well.

"_I have heard your plans, and I do believe they have merit. But Magnus is my brother too, Horus, and you sent the Wolves after him. I will not command my sons to die in a war waged for your pride. Prove that you are still worthy of my loyalty, and I shall be at your side until the end."  
_Perturabo to Horus, at the Broken Conclave

Only Curze and his escort remained behind. As Horus looked upon him, wondering what his mad sibling would do next, the Night Haunter bowed before the Warmaster, promptly followed by his sons, who knelt before the chosen champion of the Ruinous Powers. Never before, not even when the Traitor Legions had gathered on Isstvaan, had Curze displayed such submission to Horus. Konrad promised his brother that his Legion would stand alongside his own against his enemies, the Thousand Sons and the Word Bearers.

For a long moment, Horus watched Curze, before nodding, accepting the offer. Then he returned to the _Vengeful Spirit_, and the ship set course for Maeleum while Curze returned to Kerlazium to make preparations for what was to come.

_Alone on his black throne the walls around him trembling softly in rythm with the engines of the _Vengeful Spirit_, every door and secret passage locked and guarded by his faithful Justaerin, Horus finally allowed himself to relax. His calm mask collapsed into a grimace of pain. Blood seeped from the wound in his side, where the Emperor had struck him in their duel.  
__Lorgar's attack had forced him to use all of his power to counter it, and in the time that had taken, the wound had opened again. He was confident he had managed to hide it from the rest of his brothers, but if any of them ever discovered the truth … If they ever discovered that he could no longer use the fullness of his might for more than a handful of seconds before that wound reopened and he started bleeding out … There was no telling how even his sons would react.  
__He could no longer take risks like the conclave had been. For now, all his brothers had seen was that he was still as strong as ever : even Lorgar, with his cowardly ambush and the help of Magnus, had not been able to take him down. But he could not fight on the front lines of this new War, lest his condition be exposed. Instead of a warrior-king, he needed to be a general, guiding his troops and only taking to the field in controlled conditions.  
__He would triumph, no matter what. He would cast his father down, and rule over Mankind. The defeat at the Siege, his wound, Lorgar's and Magnus' petulant rebellion : those were naught but setbacks. No matter what obstacles fate placed in his way, victory would be his._

And so began the Legion Wars.


	9. The Crimson Ascendancy

With the last hope of unity among the damned lost, the Eye of Terror became the battleground of the Traitor Legions as they made war against each other. On Sortiarius, Lorgar and Magnus met, and forged the Crimson Accords : a set of treaties by which the alliance between the Thousand Sons and the Word Bearers, begun in the failed attempt to kill Horus at Zu'lasa, was solidified. As part of this alliance, each Legion sent an ambassador to the other's homeworld. Lorgar's envoy to the Planet of the Sorcerers was the Dark Apostle Angra Kalar, while Magnus dispatched a Sorcerer named Ptolemeraz to Sicarius. The two of them were warriors who had distinguished themselves during the rebellion, but had only recently been elevated to positions of power – Angra Kalar after the Word Bearers are reformed at Sicarius, Ptolemeraz after the Rubric had decimated his Legion.

Both emissaries were allowed only a token honor guard : the Dark Apostle chose a few of his most loyal disciples, while the Thousand Son was accompanied by a handful of silent, soul-dead Rubricae. The two quickly built strongholds on their appointed daemon worlds, and through the common sorcery of Lorgar and Magnus, a permanent portal was opened between these locations, allowing warriors from both Legions to travel back and forth between the two planets instantly. Soon, the embassies became a nexus of activities, as warriors sought to renew old friendships with their cousins, or forge new ones. Angra Kalar and Ptolemeraz especially worked together, and the fruits of their collaboration made their embassies unsettling, dangerous places, even for the Eye.

Dark lore flowed between the two Legions as well. The libraries of Sortiarius, containing what had been salvaged from Prospero as well as what the Thousand Sons had been able to plunder during the Heresy, had plenty to offer to the Word Bearers, whose mastery of rituals and practice with the infernal was greater than that of the Fifteenth Legion in some areas. The Seventeenth Legion also had access to much greater resources than the Thousand Sons, whose numbers, always smaller than any other Legion, had been decimated by the Burning of Prospero and Ahriman's ill-fated Rubric.

Across the two daemon worlds, Sorcerers and Dark Apostles summoned and bound Neverborn into their service, gathering an infernal legion of a size rarely seen before in galactic history, and never under mortal command. Thousands of daemons were chained to the will of the Legionaries, to be used as shock troops by the Crimson Accords. Circles of Astartes worked together and burned the souls of thousands of lesser witches in order to draw out and control more powerful members of the infernal choirs, from the Greater Daemons of the Primordial Truth to the Daemon Princes who had once been mortal.

Meanwhile, in Horus' domain, the World Eaters and Emperor's Children that the Warmaster had rallied at Skalathrax had broken apart. The conflict between Fulgrim and Angron at Zu'lasa had echoed through the blood of their sons, and they had broken their vows of service to Horus rather than serve alongside those they despised.

The eight warlords Horus had chosen to govern the Twelfth Legion led their brothers away from the Sixteenth Legion's territory. Knowing that the Legion couldn't hope to remain united for long before turning on itself, they divided the forces under their command into eight lesser hosts, giving individual leaders the choice of which of the eight they would follow. After that, they spread across the Eye, seeking bloodshed to appease the biting of the Butcher's Nails. The Eye of Terror provided plenty of battlegrounds for them to join. The daemon worlds of Khorne, and those forever fought over by the Ruinous Powers, drew them like moths to a flame, often with the same conclusion. But though many sons of Angron perished in these wars, fought only for the sake of fighting, the survivors grew strong, their bodies slowly reforged by the Warp and the favor of the God of War. Some fought on the battlefields of the Legion Wars, either because of ancient debts owed to individuals on one side or the other, or as wild berzerkers, uncaring who they killed so long as the blood flowed. The Word Bearers, thanks to their experience in the Shadow Crusade, were the most able to manipulate the fury of the Twelfth to serve their own end – but even they paid a price in blood sooner or later, which they accepted as the God of War's holy due.

The Emperor's Children, having heard of their Primarch's return and subsequent disappearance, refused to kneel to Horus any longer, their pride demanding that they serve no one but their own gene-sire if they were to serve any Primarch at all. Fully aware that many in the Eye blamed the Third Legion's raids upon Terra's population for the rebellion's failure, the sons of Fulgrim banded together, out of self-preservation rather than brotherhood. They conquered several daemon worlds and, using the slaves filling the holds of their ships, built vast, decadent cities and palaces there. The glory of Slaanesh flowed through them, inspiring them in equal measure to the ruination it had already visited upon them. They crafted horrible wonders and learned many secrets, which they used to further their own ends. In immense, gilded arenas, the champions of the Legion duelled against each other as well as against creatures and monsters coming from all across the Eye. In these kingdoms, the daemons of Slaanesh walked openly, devouring the Emperor's Children's mortal slaves after granting them one brief, ecstatic glimpse of the Dark Prince's perfection. All that mattered to the Emperor's Children was their own pursuit of excess : their only part in the Legion Wars was when some warlord or another gathered an army to raid the lesser outposts of other Legions in order to capture more slaves for their pits.

Only the Night Lords remained allied with the Sons of Horus, and though Curze was in command of the largest Astartes force in the Eye, the Eighth Legion had even fewer Sorcerers than the Sons of Horus. The Horusians, as the alliance of warriors loyal to the Warmaster came to be known, were at a decisive disadvantage where sorcery was concerned, and in the Eye of Terror, where reality itself was endlessly reshaped by the souls walking it, that was a dangerous weakness.

Mere months after the Conclave, the Crimson Accords attacked the Horusians. At the head of the onslaught were the daemonic hordes, unleashed upon the worlds of the Warmaster's dominion with barely any care given to strategy. The Neverborn crashed against the Horusian defences like a tide, leaving the defenders vulnerable to the precision strikes of the Word Bearers and the sorcery of the Thousand Sons. The Sons of Horus fought with all their might, reinforced by troops sent from Kerlazium by Curze – though controlling the more degenerate Night Lords was a challenge in itself.

But even then, slowly, the Horusians were losing. Outpost after outpost, stronghold after stronghold, world after world were falling to the forces of the Crimson Accords. Whole fortresses were lost to single Sorcerers, who used their powers to get into the minds of the defenders and turn them against one another or cause catastrophic accidents. Those few outposts which had a Sorcerer of their own to hold the psychic intrusions at bay and ward the walls from daemons were besieged by Word Bearers War Hosts, each led by a Dark Apostle – who was often a Sorcerer himself.

Seeing which way the wind was blowing, the other powers of the Eye aligned themselves with the Crimson Accords. Dark Mechanicum forge-worlds, Fallen Knight households, renegade Navy fleets and Army Regiments pledged their support to the two Daemon Primarchs. Many did so out of a desire to be on the side of the Legion Wars' victor, while others sought revenge against Horus and his sons, believing that it was them who had cost the rebels the war.

Maeleum itself did not come under attack : whether the forces of the Crimson Accords feared Horus' power, or wanted to make the Warmaster watch his dominion burn before going for the kill, they left the Sixteenth Legion's new homeworld alone. They didn't need to hurry : if nothing changed, their victory was inevitable. But Horus had never been one to let such challenges go unanswered, and he sought a mean to turn the tides of the Legion Wars.

The plain and simple truth was that the Horusians needed more Sorcerers. Training Librarians and mortal witches was a stop-gap at best, a desperate move at worst. But there was one group of Sorcerers who had good reason to stand against the alliance of Magnus and Lorgar : the remnants of Ahriman's Cabal. Ahriman had been banished from Sortiarius for casting the Rubric, the spell that had all but murdered the Thousand Sons. His cabal had been banished along with him, and they had fled from the wrath of Magnus and their own brothers.

With the rise of the Crimson Accords, these exiled were being hunted. Magnus may have sentenced them to being cast out, but those who had watched their brothers turn to dust before their eyes craved revenge. As a result, they had gone to ground, hiding in the most unlikely places or finding refuge among the warbands of other Legions – several had been recruited by the Emperor's Children, who enjoyed their misery and their skills at daemon summoning.

Never one to use half-mesures, Horus summoned a powerful daemon of Tzeentch and bound it to reveal to him the location of Ahriman himself. When the daemon failed to answer, Horus destroyed its physical form and sent its spirit shrieking back into the Warp, before summoning the next one. The thirteenth daemon thus summoned managed to bargain for its existence : though it did not know where Ahriman had fled to (for the exiled First Captain had covered his tracks well), it knew where Horus could start to look. And so Horus left Maeleum, giving command of the Horusian war effort to his Mournival.

How long the Warmaster was gone for is difficult to tell : on some battlefields, decades passed without his advice and aid, while he reappeared on Maeleum only nine weeks after his departure. As the Primarch walked out of a rift in reality and into his throneroom, at his side stood Ahzek Ahriman.

'_You were the one who sent the Wolves to kill us all. Why would I _ever _follow you ?'  
_'_What price would convince you, Ahzek ?'  
__The Exile laughed bitterly.  
_'_Can you restore Prospero ? Can you unmake the Rubric ? Can you remove the curse of the flesh-change without it killing my Legion ?'  
__Horus smiled …_

Whatever Horus offered to or threatened Ahriman with, the Exile accepted the Warmaster's offer. His first task was to journey across the Eye and make contact with the other members of his cabal, scattered throughout the storm after their banishment from Sortiarius. One by one, Ahriman found them, and brought them into the fold. These Cabalites then followed him to Maeleum, where they began to work on countering the sorcerous advantage of the Crimson Accords.

Many Sons of Horus were in awe of their Primarch's power, and had been since he had claimed it on Molech. They remembered the awesome displays of his might that he had performed during the rebellion, and now, with enemies of the Legion pressing in, they sought to emulate him by taking in the power of the Warp within themselves. With the help of the Cabalites, thousands of them walked into the fires of the Empyrean, and those who emerged were transformed into Secondborn, granted increased strength and resilience by the daemons now sharing their flesh. Despite the losses incurred in such transformations, these Possessed Marines proved a boon to the Sons of Horus, capable of fighting the daemonic hordes of the Crimson Accords on equal ground.

Between the recruitment of Ahriman's Cabalites and this influx of Secondborn, the imminent defeat that had loomed over the Horusians was banished. But the advantage in the Legion Wars was still very much on Lorgar's and Magnus' side.


	10. Fallen Angels in Hell

AN : Sorry for the double posting. I realized too late the document was missing its first paragraph, which would have made the rest of the chapter ... confusing, to say the least. Enjoy !

* * *

While the Legion Wars raged inside the Eye of Terror, history continued beyond its borders. On Caliban, Lion El'Jonson found his own foster father Luther leading a rebellion against the Imperium, along with all of the Dark Angels who had been left to guard the First Legion's homeworld. In the ensuing confrontation, the planet itself was destroyed, and Luther's followers were scattered by the Warp energies unleashed. The Fallen who had been fighting planetside were separated and cast across time and space, while those who had been manning the ships in defence of Luther's vision found themselves thrown deep into the Empyrean, emerging from the madness of the Realms of Chaos only to find themselves in the Eye of Terror.

These ships, and the thousands of Legionaries aboard them, did not arrive in a unified manner. Many were destroyed not long after their arrival, or had their crew driven mad by the unrelenting horror of the Eye of Terror. The survivors adapted, and, using sorcery taught to them by the heretical Librarians of Caliban, made contact with one another and gathered under the leadership of Vortigern, an officer of the First Legion whose battleship, _With Blade Drawn_, was the mightiest of the assembled fleet. With Caliban destroyed and Luther presumed dead, the first goal of the Fallen was survival : revenge against those who had destroyed their homeworld was second.

This was not, however, how those who already dwelled in the Eye saw it. The Fallen's first contact with the Traitor Legions happened at Zethu, a daemon world under the control of the Word Bearers. When the sons of Lorgar saw the ships of the Fallen arrive, most of them bearing the iconography of the Dark Angels still, they believed that, somehow, the Imperium had found a way to pursue them all the way inside the Eye of Terror itself. Before Vortigern could even speak, the Word Bearers opened fire. The paranoia of the Fallen, honed in the years spent in conspiracy and betrayal on Caliban, served them well here, and they were able to defend themselves and crush the Seventeenth Legion outpost – only to realize their mistake when the wrath of the Crimson Accords turned against them. Several War Hosts of the Seventeenth Legion were dispatched to destroy the Dark Angels, and soon Vortigern found himself leading his brothers into a running battle across the Eye, going from one system to the next with little clue as to where they were going.

"_It matters not whether these interlopers are still blindly loyal to the Corpse-Emperor or not. It is the will of the Gods that they be destroyed immediately. Take all your forces and hunt them down."  
_From a message sent by the Dark Council of Sicarius

Fighting for their lives against the Word Bearers, the Fallen eventually came to the attention of the Horusians. Vortigern found an outpost of the Sixteenth Legion, and recognized the heraldry of the Warmaster. In his desperation to survive, the Fallen Lord made contact with the Sons of Horus, explaining that he and his brothers had also rebelled against the False Emperor.

The commander of that outpost, a Son of Horus named Jelac the Thunder-Eyed, knew full well that the Horusians needed all the allies they could get. He welcomed Vortigern and his men, and after providing what repairs he could to their damaged ships, gave them guides to Maeleum, where they could make their case to Horus himself. Jelac was hoping that, by delivering such ripe recruits to his Warmaster, he could earn Horus' favor. This, however, never happened : mere hours after Vortigern's fleet had left Jelac's stronghold, the Word Bearers pursuing the Fallen arrived, and laid waste to the Sixteenth Legion outpost, killing every Son of Horus they found – including Jelac.

With the help of the Navigators provided by Jelac, the Fallen were able to navigate through the diminishing Horusian territories. In every system they crossed, Vortigern made sure to broadcast his intention of joining Horus on Maeleum, and managed to avoid any more incidents on the way to the Sons of Horus' homeworld. There were still perils on the journey, of course : the Eye of Terror is _never _kind to travellers. The Fallen fought against daemons manifesting aboard their vessels, and Vortigern directed his fleet in battle against vast void-leviathans – nightmarish creatures that may at some point have been ships, but had been so reshaped by the Warp as to be unrecognisable.

As they continued their odyssey, both the Fallen's ships and the Astartes themselves were affected by the currents of the Warp. The emblems of the Dark Angels emblazoned on the vessels, which had caused the Word Bearers to attack them in the first place, were burned away, replaced by strange, medieval iconography that resembled that used by the Order on Caliban, albeit altered in subtle and sinister ways. The Fallen's bodies and armor were also twisted, taking aspects of the great beasts of Caliban. The higher a warrior stood in the hierarchy of Vortigern's great warband, the more pronounced these changes were : by the journey's end, Vortigern himself resembled a cross between a pagan idol of Old Earth's antiquity and an Astartes warrior.

When they finally reached Maeleum, the Fallen found that they were expected : word of their coming had been sent ahead, using the sorcerous communications provided to the Horusians by the Cabalites. Vortigern was summoned by Horus, called to meet alone with the Warmaster in his throne room. Seeing the strength of Maeleum's defenses, the Fallen Lord obeyed, giving orders to his warriors to keep trying to ingratiate themselves with the Horusians, even if he should not survive his audience with the Warmaster. In the end, that was for nothing : Horus welcomed Vortigern.

_Vortigern knelt, trying to conceal his nervousness. In his time, he had faced many things that would have terrified mere mortals : he had fought against xenos horrors, defied his Primarch, killed his own kin and made war against the infernal creatures of the Warp. But none of it compared to this – being in the presence of the Warmaster, his fate and that of his brothers hanging in _his _hands._

_Horus reached with his left hand – the one not locked inside the Talon – and pressed his armored thumb against Vortigern's forehead. The touch was gentle, measured, yet Vortigern still felt as if his skull would crack. The Fallen Lord felt his skin burn where Horus was touching him, and when the Warmaster removed his hand, he saw his reflection in the marble floor : the Eye of Horus was now branded upon his forehead, a black mark against his skin, just between the antlers-shaped horns that sprouted from his skull._

'_Welcome, Vortigern of the Fallen,' said the Warmaster. 'Welcome to my service.'_

The first order Horus gave to Vortigern was to deal with the Word Bearers who had been set upon the trail of the Fallen. The sons of Lorgar had not abandoned their pursuit after killing Jelac : Horus had received reports of their presence within Horusian territory, hunting for the Fallen and avoiding the fleets of the Sixteenth and Eighth Legions. With the help of the Son of Horus commander Arken and the Night Lord warlord Diathrozek, Vortigern mounted an ambush against the War Hosts.

Using the Fallen fleet as bait, he drew the Word Bearers into battle, only for Arken's and Diathrozek's forces to emerge from the cover of a nearby nebulae of shrieking souls. So intent were the Word Bearers on accomplishing their Gods-appointed mission that they were caught completely by surprise, and promptly annihilated. The deaths of thousands of sons of Lorgar cemented the place of Vortigern and his Fallen among the Horusians, and the repercussions of these losses in the Dark Council helped take off some of the pressure on the Warmaster's dominion.

"_Erebus,  
__Your meddling has not gone unnoticed, nor have its consequences.  
__Fail like this again and I will have your soul ripped from your body and impaled upon the highest peak of the Dark Cathedral, to scream there for all eternity.  
__Do not try my patience further."  
_Message from Lorgar to the Dark Council


	11. The Theft of Time

Even with the arrival of the Fallen, the Horusians were still in the backfoot in the Legion Wars. The main reason for this was that, as long as the Crimson Accords forces had the initiative, the distorsion of time within the Eye of Terror mostly worked to the advantage of their enemies. Horus was on the defensive, sending reinforcements to strongholds that were under attack, and while the Cabalites had made communication faster and more reliable, actually moving the fleets through the unpredictable tides of the Eye of Terror was far more difficult. Some fleets arrived at their destination decades after the end of the siege, while others arrived days _before _the forces of the Crimson Accords entered the system – though the former was much more common. The Sorcerers of the Crimson Accords were using rituals to bend the time-twisting in their favor, and though these were costly and not entirely reliable, they were still a huge advantage for the Crimson Accords.

The Warmaster studied the Eye's very nature, puzzling out the eldritch ways in which the birth of the Youngest God had scarred reality and merged it with the Empyrean's madness. Within his chambers, Horus sought the means to end the temporal advantage of his enemies, using secrets that had been whispered in his heart by the Dark Gods themselves during the Heresy. He called Ahriman to him, and some of the greatest Horusian Sorcerers, as well as magi of the Dark Mechanicum and Techmarines who had embraced the power of Chaos – those who were now called Warpsmiths. All the while, his sons and allies fought on against the armies of Lorgar and Magnus, trusting that their Warmaster would deliver them victory.

And in the end, Horus succeeded. He emerged from his chambers and called the Warpsmiths to attend him, summoning them from all across his domain. Hundreds of artisans of Ruins answered Horus' call, and he explained his design to them. Under his direction, the Warpsmiths built a thousand and one great clocks at specific points on Maeleum, forming an arcane pattern of immense power. Each clock was a work of infernal greatness, forged from metal mined in the deepest mines of Maeleum, with every part crafted according to Horus' exacting specifications. But all of them were utterly silent, their machinery frozen until all preparations were complete.

The calculations were checked twelve times by a group of Ahriman and his Cabalites, and every clock was inspected for any flaw, no matter how minute. It took three months of replacing defective ones (and punishing those who had made them) before Horus was satisfied. Considering the scope of his ambition, anything less would have been beyond suicidal.

"_You do realize that this is madness ?"  
_"_Of course. But who, other than the mad, would dare triumph in Hell ?"  
_"… _If I knew the answer, I would not be here, now would I ?"  
_Ahriman to Horus

With his Talon and his will, Horus cut through the Eye of Terror itself. He ripped apart the unreality of the Dark Prince's Grave-birth, and with his Gods-given powers, he reached through that opening and stole Time from the Materium, anchoring it through the greatest of the hell-forged clocks, a tower of black iron and brass over a kilometer tall, standing right above Horus' own throneroom. By this singular act, the Warmaster brought some of reality's order into the Realm of Chaos, as time now flowed on Maeleum in a constant, linear fashion – one hour passing on Maeleum now corresponded to one hour passing outside the Eye of Terror.

The flow of time passed through the thousand other clocks and through them and the dark arithmetics of the Warp, it was sent throughout the rest of the Horusian dominion. Entire daemon worlds were dragged into conformity to the laws of causality – kicking in screaming all the way, sometimes literally as the Chaos-bathed planets writhed under Time's touch. The further a daemon world was from Maeleum itself, the weaker the effect became, and even on Maeleum itself there remained locations too imbued with the energies of Chaos for the clocks to affect them.

_Obalath tried to scream, but his body refused to answer to the orders coming from his brain. He would have panicked if only the necessary rush of oxygen and hormones could take place. The mutant's bestial face was wrinkling, ravaged by accelerated ageing as his mouth moved soundlessly, while the rest of his flesh remained unchanged. By the time his lungs finally responded to his injuction, his head had turned into dust._

In fact, the time-distorsions of these places grew _worse _after the building of the clocks, as if Chaos itself was compensating for what Horus had wrought. The Horusians soon learned to mark these places, where thousands of years could pass in the blink of an eye and from which crawled _things _spawned from the unfortunate who had been trapped within them upon Horus' grand gesture.

On Sicarius and Prospero, the Daemon Primarchs of the Crimson Accords felt the repercussions of Horus' titanic feat of sorcery. Lorgar was enraged, seeing what his brother had done as a gross violation of the Gods' holy realm. Magnus was silently impressed, and set many of his sons and servants to the task of uncovering how Horus had done this – if only so that they would know how to undo it once the Legion Wars were won without accidentally destroying the entire Eye.

Thanks to the Theft of Time, the logistics of the Legion Wars became much easier for the Horusians. The Warmaster could now wield all of his tactical genius, sending reinforcements toward strongholds that were exposed before the enemy could make his move and baiting and destroying entire fleets. Between the Cabalites' assistance, the Dark Angels recruits, and now this, the tide of the Legion Wars finally turned in the Horusians' favor.

For the first time since the Broken Conclave, the Sons of Horus and their Night Lord and Fallen allies were able to launch attacks on their own on the domains of the Crimson Accords. Temples of the Seventeenth Legion and observatories of the Fifteenth were razed, and those who had joined the alliance of Lorgar and Magnus were made to face the displeasure of the Warmaster.

In response, Lorgar dedicated more and more resources to the prosecution of the war. The Arch-Priest called upon the elder servants of Ruin, using the power granted unto him as a Daemon Primarch of Chaos Undivided. From the depths of the Gods' realms, the favored scions of Chaos emerged – a host of Daemon Princes, Greater Daemons, and other, less easily classified horrors. The Dark Gods were enjoying the Legion Wars immensely – even Horus' seeming disdain for the madness of the Eye was a source of great joy, for it had turned the course of the war on its head. The Ruinous Powers watched on, wondering what would be the next move of their favourite toy.

Did Lorgar and Magnus know what game their daemonic overlords were playing ? Possibly. For all that they were blind in so many ways, Aurelian and the Crimson King understood the Great Game of Chaos like few damned souls before them. But not even they could have anticipated Horus' next strike against the Accords.


	12. The Declaration of Moriana

With time restored to the Horusian domains, the Warmaster could not help but wonder just how long he and his warriors had been trapped inside the Eye. Horus knew that the Legion Wars, for all their apocalyptic scale, were but a distraction : the true prize laid outside, in the Imperium they had forged from their sweat and blood. Yet with the armies of the Crimson Accords renewing their assaults, bolstered by the great fiends called forth by Lorgar, he had little time to investigate.

It was Konrad Curze, the mad Primarch of the Night Lords Legion, who delivered to the Warmaster the answers he sought – and with them, the means to inflict a terrible blow upon his enemies. One day, the King of the Night appeared on Maeleum without warning, presenting himself to the gates of the Warmaster's palace to the utter stupefaction of its guards. He came without fanfare or escort, accompanied only by a single mortal woman.

The woman was clad in tattered rags, and an iron collar circled her neck, connected to a chain of silver whose other end was firmly in Curze's grasp. Yet she walked like a queen as she and the Night Haunter were welcomed into Horus' great stronghold, and did not appear troubled at all by the weapons trained on her by hesitant guards – Konrad said nothing to this, seeming amused by his nephews' caution. Queries as to how Curze had come to Maeleum – there had been no sighting of Eighth Legion vessels, no perturbation in the Aether detected by the Sorcerers, _nothing –_ went unanswered, save for the slightest, mocking smirk on the corpse-pale lips of the Night Haunter.

"_Hello, Konrad."  
_"_Hello, Horus."  
_"_Who is your companion, brother ?"  
_"_I am Moriana, Great One."  
_Conversation in the inner chambers of Maeleum's greatest stronghold

Moriana – for this was the name claimed by the mortal woman – had come to the Eye of their own volition, seeking to meet with Horus to bring him knowledge of the events that had transpired in the Imperium since the rebellion's defeat. Her ship had been mislaid by the currents of the storm, and she had been rescued from its wreck by Curze himself. The Night Haunter had felt the ripples of Moriana's presence across time, and sought their source.

Exerting his will, Horus compelled Moriana to speak only truth, and let her speak.

The first of Moriana's many revelations was just how long had passed outside the Eye of Terror : more than seven centuries, where (before the Theft of Time) some parts of the Horusian dominion had seen mere decades pass – and some others, millennia. In those seven centuries, the Imperium has changed so much as to become almost unrecognisable to those who had fought in the Great Crusade and the Heresy.

Before coming to the Eye, Moriana had been a high-ranking member of the Imperium's ruling class, and knew a lot more than the typical Imperial citizen. Just what position she occupied was unclear, and in the years that followed there would be plenty of speculation in the Eye. Some would think her a renegade Inquisitor, others a prophetess of the Dark Gods. Some would write entire treaties explaining how her every action made it clear she was an agent of the Alpha Legion, and others would remain convinced that she wasn't human at all, but a daemon in disguise.

Regardless of her true origins, Moriana told Horus that his father, the Emperor, still lived, after a fashion. Wounded nigh unto death by the blow inflicted upon Him by the Warmaster aboard the _Vengeful Spirit_, He had been placed into stasis upon the Golden Throne, where His spirit was sustained by the thousand daily sacrifices of psykers, their souls consumed to fuel the Astronomican's blazing light. That much had been expected by Horus, who could feel the burning fire of the Astronomican even from Maeleum. What the Warmaster hadn't expected was that the Master of Mankind was now commonly referred to as the _God-_Emperor.

The cults born of Lorgar's _Lectitio Divinatus _had grown exponentially during and after the war, feeding on the mythological scale of the conflict and the fear caused by the reveal of the Warp's true nature. With the Emperor falling to Horus' Talon and the exile of His "fallen angels" into the Eye of Terror, preachers and demagogues alike had found it all too easy to convert billions to their blasphemous beliefs. As the loyal Primarchs hunted down the remnants of the traitor forces (unwittingly helping cement their part in the newly-written religious canon), these cults slowly coalesced into one, galaxy-encompassing leviathan. In the wake of the anarchy and terror brought on by the war, the High Lords of Terra quietly supported the rise of this new faith, hoping to instrumentalize it to solidify their control of Humanity.

To avoid a second civil war, the Primarchs had been forced to concede and allow the rise of the Ecclesiarchy as a central force of the Imperium. Even Sanguinius must now play the part assigned to him by the Imperial Creed : that of the God-Emperor's most loyal and powerful servant, given to Mankind to guide and protect them in the Materium while He safeguards their souls from the Dark.

In response to this, and combined with his own guilt over failing to face Horus during the Siege and completing the vision of his doom he had _known _must come, the Angel had withdrawn from the Imperium. Leaving his Legion in the hands of his capable subordinates, Sanguinius now wandered the Imperium alone, seemingly driven by divine inspiration. He appeared where and when he was needed most, though that was not always obvious, and where he came, so did the wrath of the God-Emperor. Rebellions against tyrannical Governors had been quelled by his appearance, and religious fervor had been turned from degenerating into fanatical calls for purging the unbelievers by a single word of the white-feathered Primarch.

Behind his mask of calm and control, Horus was shocked by this revelation to his core. Years ago, on the moon of Davin, he had first been convinced to rebel against his father by visions showing the Emperor worshiped as a god, and he and eight more of his brothers forgotten, erased from history. At the time, he had believed that this was the Emperor's plan – to elevate Himself to godhood at the cost of every ideal the Great Crusade was founded upon. It had been the first step on his path to rebellion and revelation, and now, he had learned that his own rebellion had brought about that very outcome. For a time, his mind reeled with the implications, and Moriana was silent, sensing his inner turmoil. Then, displaying a surprising insight in his brother's mind, Konrad spoke.

"_I have learned that it does not matter who we were before, or how we came to be who we are now. All that matters is this : what do you want, Horus ? And what are you ready to do to get it ?"  
_The Night Haunter to the Warmaster

According to the Dark Angels, Lion El'Jonson was dead, struck by a vile Horusian plot – the Warmaster actually chuckled when he heard the fiction the sons of Caliban were presenting to the rest of the Imperium in their desperation to hide the existence of the Fallen, and noted to make sure to inform Vortigern. Jaghatai Khan had gone missing, pursuing the Dark Eldar raiders who had pillaged Chogoris and inflicted untold atrocities upon the world's population while the Khagan was fighting in the Heresy. Leman Russ had spent the longest of all Primarchs in the Scouring, unsatisfied with the severity and thoroughness of the purges of Horus' supporters. As far as Moriana knew, the Wolf King was _still _hunting the distant descendants of those who had sided with the Warmaster and fled to the unexplored regions of the galaxy after his defeat.

Rogal Dorn had turned the Cadian Gate into a fortress, pouring his Legion's resources and influence into securing the one stable entrance and exit to the Eye of Terror. The Praetorian had sworn himself to the task of guarding the Gate, while his son Sigismund led the Black Templars into more proactive forms of warfare across the galaxy.

The Iron Hands, shattered during the Heresy, had been wholly brought back into the fold. In an unparalleled feat of diplomacy, Guilliman had managed to convince the Medusan warriors who had abandoned the Imperium after the death of Captain Shadrak Meduson to return. What he had offered the Blackshields-in-all-but-name to persuade them, Moriana did not know – she doubted that a simple pardon for their actions during the Heresy would have been enough.

Vulkan and the few remaining Salamanders were split between Terra and Nocturne. On the Throneworld, the Salamanders had replaced the Imperial Fists as guardians, manning the walls and helping keep the peace planetwide. On Nocturne (which Vulkan still visited once every fifteen standard years, at the Time of Trials), the decimated Legion was still slowly rebuilding its numbers. Salamander forces were dispatched on very select missions, mostly to reclaim lost artefacts of the Legion or on humanitarian assignments, where the presence of Space Marines, while not indispensable, would help lower the death toll in civilian populations.

As the Traitor Legions were banished to the Eye of Terror and the Scouring concluded, Guilliman had claimed that the remaining Legions needed to evolve. The Avenging Son declared that the battlefield had changed : no longer did the armies of the Imperium wage great wars of conquest and liberation, gathering billion-strong forces to bring entire Sectors into the fold. The age of the Great Crusade was over, and now they must hold that which they had conquered against the threats of the xenos and the heretic. The influence of Chaos had not disappeared with the banishment of Horus and his cohorts : cults of Ruin sprouted on thousands of worlds, hiding in the shadows and quietly growing in strength until they revealed themselves.

At Guilliman's suggestion, the loyal Legions were reorganized into smaller forces, each operating in near-total autonomy, but still part of an overall chain of command with their Primarch (if he still lived) at the top of it. These Chapters counted a thousand Astartes, with a complement of warmachines, ships, serfs and recruitment facilities. They were scattered across the Imperium, to serve as fast-response forces capable of crushing most insurrections and xenos threats. The greatest concentration of Space Marines in the Imperium was on Cadia itself, where Rogal Dorn commanded more than ten thousand Legionaries across the system's many, _many _strongholds.

Guilliman himself had returned to Maccrage, from where he directed the efforts of his entire Legion, receiving reports from all Chapters of the Thirteenth Legion and collating data in order to detect patterns and react to threats with maximum speed and efficiency. He was also the voice of reason in Imperial politics, sending Ultramarine emissaries to regions of the Imperium where those who claimed the Emperor's authority to rule were misusing that privilege and failing in their duties.

For a long time, Horus mused on Moriana's revelations. Then, he came to a decision. He commanded Konrad to take the woman and bring her to Sicarius, the daemonic homeworld of the Seventeenth Legion. The Night Haunter was then to call upon a life-debt owed to him by Lorgar, from when he had saved the Aurelian from the talons of Corvus Corax on Isstvan V. Lorgar's ascension to daemonhood may have greatly increased his power and granted him immortality, but by the same token, he was now bound by the same rules as all of daemonkind, and would be forced to accede to Curze's request. That request, Horus commanded, would be the following : that _none_, no matter how great or small, hurt Moriana after she was left on Sicarius. Her safety and freedom were to be guaranteed by the Aurelian, now and forevermore.

Curze's laughter was heard across all of Maeleum. Once he had stopped laughing, he swore to his brother that his will would be done, and took Moriana with him out of the chamber – though the Justaerins who guarded all entrances did not see him pass, nor did anyone else in the palace.

Not long after – perhaps immediately, but it is impossible to know for certain – Konrad reappeared on Sicarius itself. His arrival was greeted in a much different fashion than it had been on Maeleum : dozens of sorcerous alarms started to ring, the aura of a Primarch disturbing the Aether. Thousands of Word Bearers converged on the Night Haunter, who stood in the middle of a sacrificial plaza, having ripped the mortal priest overseeing the sacrifices to shreds (which, in the spirit of the daemon world, he had carefully arranged upon the altar in a pattern pleasing to the Dark Gods).

The Word Bearers surrounded Curze, but did not dare attack. For all that the Primarch of the Eighth Legion had aligned himself with Horus the Weak, he was still a Primarch, and clearly blessed by the Pantheon. They waited, hesitant, and Curze watched them, Moriana at his side, seeming as unconcerned by the host of deadly warriors as the Primarch himself.

Finally, Lorgar appeared, manifesting in a gout of hellfire. His voice burning with eldritch power, he demanded to know what his brother was doing here, before he face the wrath of Chaos Undivided. For several seconds, Curze looked Lorgar in his burning eyes, smiling. Then he did as Horus had commanded, and called in the debt he was owed.

Just as the Warmaster had planned, Lorgar could not refuse his brother's demand. The Aurelian _knew _there was a trap hidden in the seemingly innocuous request – what harm could a simple mortal woman be, after all ? But he could not disobey the laws of the Neverborn, not when the one calling in the marker was a being as potent as Curze. He swore that Moriana would be kept safe and free by him, the Bearers of the Word, and all others upon whom the Daemon Primarch had authority.

Konrad gestured for Moriana to begin speaking. Before Lorgar Aurelian, several members of the Dark Council, the ambassador of the Thousand Sons and thousands of Word Bearers, she repeated her tale of the Ecclesiarchy and its worship of the God-Emperor. She spoke for hours, detailing the beliefs and origins of the Imperial Creed, while her audience listened, stunned and spell-bound not to do _anything _to silence her. When she was done, Konrad looked at the face of Lorgar, seeing something that mere mortals could not see on his brother's burning visage, and nodded slightly.

Then he was gone, seemingly slipping through a fold in space, leaving Moriana behind.

The testimony of Moriana broke Lorgar's will. His long-held beliefs that the Primordial Truth was the only way for Mankind's salvation, that the rebellion against the Emperor had been just and necessary, were thrown into question by the fact that all he had achieved was realize what he had once dreamt of accomplishing and had later turned against and sought to avoid at all costs.

The Daemon Primarch could hear the laughter of the Dark Gods, and, without a word, he withdrew from the Legion's affairs, secluding himself into his sanctum. There, he contemplated the will of the Gods, seeking an answer as to what he was _meant _to do now. Was Horus still the anointed champion of Chaos ? Had the Warmaster actually _succeeded _in what he had been destined to accomplish, even though the rebellion had failed ?

With Lorgar's withdrawal, the Dark Council assumed joint command of the Seventeenth Legion, but it was divided. Some wanted to continue the Legion Wars against the Horusians, while others thought that Moriana's words were a warning of the consequences of infighting while the true enemy grew stronger outside the Eye. Meanwhile, without Lorgar's will to hold them under control, the host of powerful daemons the Aurelian had summoned broke free. Some spread across the Eye or returned to their own domains, but others sought revenge against the Word Bearers for daring to presume to command them. No few of those ended up allying themselves with the Warmaster's forces, however temporary and uneasy such alliances may be.

As for Moriana herself, she was left untouched, protected by the oath of Lorgar. In fact, the wording of the oath forced the Dark Council to permanently assign her a guard, to make sure that her life and freedom were preserved. At her request, this guard was limited to a "mere" hundred Word Bearers and a singular cruiser-class vessel, named the _Ashdrinker_. With it, she left Sicarius to parts unknown, having dealt a nigh-lethal blow to the Crimson Accords – with nothing but the truth.


	13. The Duel of the Sorcerers

Lorgar's withdrawal and the fracturing of the Seventeenth Legion's leadership cemented the turning of the tides in the Legion Wars. Under the Warmaster's guidance, the Horusians launched an aggressive campaign of conquest on the territories of the Crimson Accords. Minor powers that had aligned themselves with Lorgar and Magnus changed sides, paying a heavy price in flesh and resources in order to appease the Warmaster's wrath.

Though Lorgar had abandoned the war, Magnus had not, and the Crimson King was an enemy to be feared. His attempts at drawing Lorgar out of his revelation-induced withdrawal failed, leaving the Cyclops in sole control of those forces still loyal to the spirit of the Crimson Accords. From his Tower on Sortiarius, Magnus performed many great feats of sorcery whose effects reached across the Eye and granted infernal assistance to his armies.

On Maeleum, Horus received reports of these rituals' effects : the earth opening beneath rolling tanks, rains of acid falling from clear skies upon mortal armies, Warp eruptions that swallowed whole companies of Astartes and spat out twisted monstrosities. The Warmaster doubted that his brother could keep up such things for long : there was a cost for all sorcery, and even a Daemon Primarch could not escape the backlash forever. But he could not (he _would_ not) simply wait to outlast the storm of Magnus' fury, and waste the lives of his warriors to a war that was ultimately a test at best, and a distraction at worst.

Instead, Horus called for Ahriman, and commanded him to go to the Planet of the Sorcerers and bring an end to the Legion Wars once and for all. The assaults on enemy daemon worlds stopped, and the Warmaster recalled the forces thus freed to the Sixteenth Legion's homeworld, before placing them under Ahriman's command. It was a mighty fleet indeed, counting hundreds of ships and nearly twenty thousand Legionaries from several different Legions. Some of the warlords resented being placed under the leadership of one who bore the same blood as their enemies, but they were silenced by the presence of none other than Ezekyle Abaddon at Ahriman's side. Whether the First Captain was given the assignment to keep the fleet under control, or as insurance against any last-minute treachery on the Exile's part, only he and the Warmaster knew.

At the head of this fleet was the _Vengeful Spirit_ herself, which had already played a key part in the Legion Wars. The prowess of the Gloriana-class battleship had been respected by the Traitor Legions before : now they feared her guns, which seemed to hunger for their blood. The flagship and a handful of escorts were the whole of the Sixteenth Legion presence amidst the fleet : the rest were Night Lords, Dark Angels (though Vortigern was no part of the force, being left to direct the defense of one of the fronts), and an assortment of warbands from the other, neutral Legions. Ships of the Death Guard had quietly arrived to Maeleum as the fleet gathered, having learned of its purpose through means unknown and seeking to participate in the assault on the homeworld of the Legion of their Dark God's rival.

Once preparations were complete, the fleet left Maeleum on a direct course to Sortiarius. Here, the unique nature of travel through the Eye worked in the Horusians' favor : there were no Warp routes they needed to follow, no need to emerge from the Empyrean at the Mandeville Points of the systems they had to cross. With the Cabalites scattered among the fleet and linked to one another telepathically, the fleet could brave the madness of the storms and sail straight for the Planet of the Sorcerers.

Of course, the fleet's Warp displacement guaranteed that the Crimson King knew about it as soon as it left, if not before. But Horus was gambling that one spear thrust, aimed at the heart of enemy territory, could crash through whatever defenses Magnus could raise in its path fast enough. He aimed to end the war faster than the grinding warfare that would otherwise be needed to reduce the influence of the Crimson Accords forces to the point where they stopped being a threat (something that, given the capabilities of some Thousand Sons and Dark Apostles, could very well require the full purge of two Legions which were _supposed_ to be on his side in the Long War). It was a tactic that the Sons of Horus had mastered during the Great Crusade, and often used during the rebellion, though it had ultimately failed them at Terra.

The Horusian fleet slammed into Sortiarius' defenses the moment they emerged from the storm and entered the pocket of more-or-less stable reality around the Planet of the Sorcerers, where the laws of physics were only carelessly broken rather than chewed on, digested and spat back out, transformed into the whimsical nightmares of mad godlings.

Magnus had called all the forces he could to help defend Sortiarius, and many had answered the call. A gauntlet of ships, defense stations and other, stranger things awaited Ahriman and Abaddon. The First Captain of the Sons of Horus took command of the battle, while the Exile went into the depths of the Vengeful Spirit and began the final step of the plan he had begun to conceive when Horus had given him this mission. Using the connection that lingered between him, Sortiarius and Magnus (leftover from the great spell that had transported the Thousand Sons there from Prospero), he opened a rift between the flagship and the top of the Tower of the Cyclops and walked through, armed with his Black Staff and an athame dagger.

The Crimson King was there, watching the battle unfold in the heavens with his burning eye. What happened next is unclear : Ahzek could not have hoped to defeat Magnus alone, not even with the Crimson King's focus being on the war above. But, somehow, perhaps by channelling the sorcerous backlash that had accumulated through Magnus' reckless support of the Crimson Accords forces, the Exile managed to bring his Primarch to his knees.

Whatever the Exile intended to do next was interrupted by the sudden arrival of someone Ahriman knew of old. Iskandar Khayon, Captain of the Thousand Sons and once a member of Ahriman's Cabal, before turning on them and trying to stop the Rubric when it had started to go wrong. The red of his armor was as vivid as Ahriman's azure, and the two of them clashed atop the Tower, before the subsumed form of their Daemon Primarch.

"_Was it not enough to kill us, Ahzek ?! You had to betray us to Horus as well ?!"  
_"_What I do, I do for us all. For Tizca. For Prospero."  
_"_Then you are foolish as well as damned."  
_"_... I am aware, brother."  
_Exchange between Iskandar Khayon and Ahzek Ahriman

In the end, Ahriman killed Iskandar, shattering his brother's prized axe _Saern _with the Black Staff before burying the _athame _that had been meant for Magnus into his hearts. But by then, it was too late. Before the Scarab Guard Terminators flying up the Tower on bound Screamers of Tzeentch could stop him, Ahriman teleported back aboard the Vengeful Spirit, leaving Magnus to recover from the sorcerous blow. Khayon's body was carried away by his bloodward, a black-winged Dark Eldar, who took it back to his ship, the Tlaloc. The vessel left Sortiarius soon after, without answering any hail of the Thousand Sons or their allies.

Though Ahriman's gambit had failed thanks to Khayon's sacrifice, Magnus was forced to recognize that he could no longer hope to win the Legion Wars. As the Horusian fleet finished off the remnants of the gauntlet and prepared for a direct attack on Sortiarius, the Crimson King sent a psychic message. It wasn't addressed to the attackers, nor to his renegade son (though both heard it nonetheless), but to his brother Horus himself.

In essence, the message was a plea for peace and an offering all in one. Magnus knew that Horus sought vengeance over the Imperium more than he desired to destroy the Fifteenth Legion, and in exchange for the withdrawal of the Horusian fleet and a détente of the relationship between the Crimson Accords and the Warmaster's growing empire, he offered the keys to escaping the Eye of Terror.

Horus accepted Magnus' offer. The fleet returned to Maeleum, with an emissary carrying the Crimson King's tribute held aboard the Vengeful Spirit. The envoy was dragged in chains before Horus, and revealed the gift of his Primarch : a set of rituals, designed by the Crimson King. When performed by mortals outside the Eye of Terror, these rituals would open Warp portals between their location and the Eye, effectively enabling the summoning of Astartes beyond the borders of their prison. With this, they could bypass the Cadian Gate, though the rituals would not work for anything bigger than a Terminator - not without significant modifications to accommodate for the increase in scope, at least.

Ahriman and the other Caballing Sorcerers studied the rituals they extracted from the opened mind of the envoy (which was devoid of anything other than his mission, his mind having been wiped clean by Magnus beforehand). They found that the envoy had spoken true, and the rituals could be adapted in order to "resonate" with different daemon worlds. They had also discovered several backdoors which could be used by powerful Sorcerers who knew of them to sabotage the rituals or subvert them, but such treachery had been expected from the Daemon Primarch of Tzeentch (if Magnus had even known they were there).

The Cabalites presented their findings to Horus, who considered his options. After several hours of deliberation and discussion with his warlords, Horus ordered that an Eye-wide cease-fire be enacted between the Horusians and the Crimson Accords. The Legion Wars were ended, though there would always be spots of warfare between individual warbands – it was only the greater conflict that was over. To prevent the Wars from erupting again in the future, Horus sent emissaries of his own to all other Legions, bringing copies of Magnus' rituals. Two ill-favoured sons were sent to the World Eaters and the Death Guard, and only one of them returned alive, but by the end all Traitor Legions had access to the rituals.

But useful as they had the potential to be, the rituals couldn't serve their purpose unless they were in mortal hands _outside_ the Eye of Terror. And so Horus thought on what Moriana had told him, and began to enact his plan for the next phase of the Long War.


	14. The Proclamation of Horus

With the Eye of Terror more or less pacified and the Horusian Dominion secure, the Warmaster turned his gaze upon the Imperium once more. The rituals of Magnus may offer the Traitor Legions a way out of their infernal prison, but they must first be spread outside the Eye to serve. Furthermore, it was clear that, at best, these rituals would only be able to grant passage to a handful of Chaos Marines at a time – unless those performing them had access to resources on such a scale, they probably already controlled the planet on which the rituals were taking place.

It was clear to the Warmaster that the Long War would need to be fought in a very different manner than the Great Crusade and the rebellion. His armies were much diminished compared to those he had commanded during the Heresy : a direct confrontation with the might of the Imperium would end in his defeat, no matter what clever strategems and superior tactics he brought to bear – and, with his brothers in the opposing ranks, it wasn't even guaranteed these would succeed.

But what Moriana had told him of the Imperial Creed had revealed to him a new avenue of attack. Instead of seeking to invade the Imperium and subjugate its people to his will, dragging them kicking and screaming into the Primordial Truth, he would need to present himself and his Warp-born allies as an alternative to the unquestioning obedience demanded by Terra. The rebellion had begun as opposition to the Emperor's plans to reach godhood and enslave all of Mankind, after all, before the whispers of Chaos had led each of the Traitor Legions down the Path to Glory.

The Long War would not be fought for dominion over the stars and the worlds of the Imperium, but for the very soul of Humanity. Over the course of centuries – millennia, most likely – the false faith of the Imperial Creed would be eroded, replaced by a million variances on the Primordial Truths (or any philosophy that stood in opposition with the Ecclesiarchy, where necessary). The Imperium would crumble as the mortar of the Imperial Creed was removed, and the Traitor Legions would provide support for the rebels, lending them their might and their strategic acumen. Slowly, the might of the Imperium would be weakened, until the time was right and Horus could lead the forces of the Eye into the rest of the galaxy and claim the throne that was rightfully his.

First, however, Horus needed to remind the Imperium of his and his brethren's existence, that the new ideologies and the rituals may take root.

According to Moriana, in the aftermath of the Heresy, the annals of the Imperium had been purged. Only the Astartes and a handful of Imperial leaders even knew that the Traitor Legions had existed at all. Their existence had been expunged from all but a handful of archives, their victories during the Great Crusade attributed to other Legions. Instead, the Ecclesiarchy had created a thousand myths out of whole cloth, such as the one depicting the Emperor's nine sons battling the nine Scions of Darkness, created by daemons to serve as their agents in the galaxy, in the war that led to Him being seated on the Golden Throne.

While he was quietly enraged by this, Horus also saw the opportunity offered by such blatant revisionism of history. The people of the Imperium had been conditionned to accept what they had been told without question, kept in a state of ignorance that was supposed to prevent them from falling for the whispers of the Ruinous Powers. But the Warmaster, ever the cunning demagogue, knew that this very ignorance could be turned to his advantage if he played his cards right.

In 781.M31, several decades after Moriana's flight into the Eye of Terror and the end of the Legion Wars, Horus enacted his latest scheme. After eight years of ill portents and nightmares all across the Segmentum Obscurus, a fleet burst out of the Cadian Gate and assaulted the defenses raised upon that world by Rogal Dorn. A hundred Legion warships from the First, Eighth and Sixteenth Legions, led by the _Vengeful Spirit, _sailed forth from the storm and toward Cadia.

At the head of that armada was Horus himself, whose power blazed in the Empyrean like a dark beacon, a shadowy reflection of the Astronomican's own light. The Warmaster had used his own dark gifts to open a path through the Eye of Terror's outskirts, which were the most violent and dangerous region of the Eye, so that his fleet could pass through without being destroyed. The other Daemon Primarchs and Lords of Chaos had sensed this, and were in envious awe of Horus' power : while many of them knew paths that could allow a single vessel or a small flotilla to escape the Eye of Terror, none could throw open the Cadian Gate like this and bring forth a whole fleet.

_He stood on the bridge of the _Vengeful Spirit_, his voice calm and collected as he directed his forces. He was utterly immobile, his concentration absolute. He could not let the power he had drawn into himself overcome him. He could not let this operation fail. He could not …  
_… _he could not let anyone realize that a pool of dark blood was forming at his feet._

Cadia was surrounded by hundreds of orbital stations and fortresses. The Chaos fleet engaged these defenses, while Dorn – who by that point had remained on Cadia for nearly half a millennia – directed the Imperial Guard and Space Marine troops under his command.

The skies above Cadia burned, as orbital stations were obliterated by ship-fire or boarded by Legionary strike teams. Imperial Fists who had been born long after the Siege of Terra battled against their embittered, corrupted cousins, launching counter-boarding actions of their own. Despite the danger, members of the Inquisition, stationed at Cadia to watch its defenders for possible taint, took part in these actions with the goal of obtaining intelligence about the situation within the Eye of Terror, which could be priceless in the endless struggle against Chaos.

Thousands of Imperials died with every minute, yet though the casualties were heavy, it was clear that the Chaos armada would not be able to break through Cadia's orbital defenses : and in truth, the Black Crusade, as it was later named, did not manage to land a single warrior on the planet's surface. (Though there would be tales, in years to come, of lone Chaos Marines who had survived the crash of their vessels and gone into hiding within Cadia's jungles).

"_His strategy makes no sense. He must know that he cannot break through, that he cannot defeat our defenses with these numbers. What is he planning ? What am I not seeing ?"  
_Rogal Dorn, during the First Black Crusade

As the grinding battle continued, the next step of Horus' plan was activated. Along with a hundred Justaerin Terminators, the Warmaster teleported aboard one of Cadia's astropathic stations, slaughtering its defenders and seizing the astropathic choir before their termination protocols could be completed. Fifty soul-bound astropaths found themselves before Chaos' chosen champion, and what horrors they beheld with their sightless eyes, only the Emperor and the Dark Gods know. Then, Horus spoke, and through the astropaths he sent his voice throughout the galaxy, so that nearly every astropathic choir in the Imperium picked up upon his message. Thanks to the sorcerous preparations performed by the Cabalites before Horus had left the flagship, these astropaths on the _receiving _end of the Proclamation did not suffer any ill effect directly related to hearing the words of the Arch-Traitor – though millions of them were executed as a result.

"_My father lied to me, just as His servants have lied to you, to keep you chained and blind while they reap the rewards of your toil. You sweat and bleed and die, but there is no blessed afterlife waiting for you on the other side, no horde of daemons waiting to devour your soul, held at bay by the Emperor's sacrifice. You are slaves, just as I was a slave. But I have broken free, and so can you. For I am no longer a slave, nor are my sons and those of my brothers who saw the truth.  
__I am Horus, Prince of the Eye, and I call to you all to rise and claim your freedom from the chains of lies that bind you, that deny you your rightful due, that stop you from reaching your true potential. I cannot free you alone, but what worth would such freedom have ?"  
_Excerpt from the Proclamation of Horus

As all eyes were turned on the astropathic station, the stratagem of the self-proclaimed Prince of the Eye unfolded. At the edge of the system, where the Warmaster had parted the roiling seas of the Warp, _hundreds _of ships suddenly appeared. These vessels were much smaller and less powerful than the Legion warships which were attacking Cadia, and none of them could be identified in the Imperium's data-banks. They had been build by the Dark Mechanicum at Horus' command, and each of them carried within its hull hundreds of cultists, as well as Chaos relics, sorcerous tomes, and multiples copies of Magnus' summoning rituals. A few even carried lone Chaos Marines, who had been specially selected and trained to play their part in these ships' purpose.

While the defenders of Cadia fought against the Black Crusade's attack, the cult-ships scattered, making for the Mandeville Point. As soon as Dorn realized what they were attempting, the Praetorian diverted forces to intercept them; but while many were destroyed, most still made it to the system's edge and engaged their Warp engines, vanishing into the Aether. Each ship had received a destination, dredged from the annals of the Great Crusade still in the traitors' possession. Scattered across the galaxy, the cultists were to infiltrate Imperial society, capitalizing on the galaxy-wide Proclamation to plant the seeds of rebellion and Chaos worship, in disguises more palatable to human sanity. Outwardly, there was nothing to reveal the ships' allegiance : even someone visiting their decks could be fooled, so long as they were kept to the prepared sections.

As soon as the cult-ships had completed their translation, Horus' Legion forces began to disengage. Boarding parties withdrew to their ships or, when retreat wasn't possible, took down as many loyalists as possible before being cut down. Imperial strategists would later analyse records of the battle and declare that the retreat had been planned since the very beginning of the offensive : Dorn had been blind to it because, to him, the notion of Horus planning to _retreat _was unthinkable.

Within a handful of hours, the Chaos armada fled back into the Eye of Terror, the passage opened by Horus closing behind them before Dorn could give in to the urge to pursue. During the entire batte, the Praetorian had fought his desire to take to the field himself – he had known that he was no match for Horus, and his presence in the command center had been more important to the war effort than his personal contribution to the battle could have been.

The remaining astropathic choirs sent messages to Terra and the rest of the Imperial hierarchy, including Guilliman on Maccrage. Wherever Sanguinius was at the moment, Dorn didn't doubt that his brother would learn about Horus' return and the scattering of his servants, if he did not already know. The mind of the Primarch of the Imperial Fists then turned to the consequences of Horus' Proclamation, and how they would need to adapt to the Arch-Traitor's latest strike against them.

And in the Realms of Chaos, the Dark Gods watched, and smiled, pleased that their champion was playing the new part they had written for him.

* * *

AN : and with this chapter, this fic has caught up with all that I have published on Spacebattles. I am focusing on the next chapter of the Roboutian Heresy right now, so if you have something to say about this chapter, some idea about how this alternate timeline will evolve, or some question to ask me, then leave a review ! So far, a lot of you appear to enjoy this story - and I fully intend on doing the same thing I did for The Fifteenth Ascendant and write the timeline all the way to the Times of Endings.

Zahariel out.


	15. The Rise of the Cults

_781.M31 : The Proclamation_

Under the leadership of Horus, the Black Crusade attacks Cadia. Chaos sorcery throws open the Cadian Gate, allowing Horusian forces to pour out of the Eye of Terror unhindered, and Cadia is besieged. Though the offensive is repelled by Rogal Dorn's defenses and suffers heavy casualties, Horus succeeds in broadcasting the heretical Proclamation throughout the entire galaxy, and hundreds of Eye-born ships scatter at the system's Mandeville point before the Traitor Legion forces withdraw through the Gate.

_781-785.M31 : The Wrath of the Ordos_

Across the million worlds of the Imperium, the Inquisition seeks to eliminate all traces of the Proclamation. Without coordination, the scattered Inquisitors hear the words of the Arch-Traitor, and immediately fall back upon the familiar methods of suppressing all heretical knowledge. They execute whole astropathic choirs, plunging entire star systems into communication black-outs, before going after those who have already heard the Proclamation's contents.

But the word cannot be stopped. Though billions are executed in the purges, most of the time, all this accomplishes is driving the surviving rebels in hiding, nursing a renewed hatred for the cruel, tyrannical ways of the Imperium. Eventually, the Lord Inquisitors manage to re-establish contact with the isolated systems and calm down their furious brethren, bitterly informing them that knowledge of the Proclamation cannot be suppressed, not unless they are willing to wipe out all but the entirety of the Imperium's population. In secret, some of the most radical Inquisitors consider that very option, but abandon it when they realize the surviving Primarchs would never stand for it.

_785.M31 : The Seed of Evil_

In the Lethe Sector, Imperial Navy patrols locate a ship heavily damaged by Warp transit and bearing no Imperial identifiers. After their hails are met with silence and an attempt to flee, the Captain in charge of the patrol orders the ship's engines disabled and the vessel boarded by the troops under his command. The boarders report heavy resistance from the human crew of the ship, as well as distressing iconography. When the Inquisition learns of this discovery, they order the entire patrol quarantined while they send their own forces to investigate.

It is discovered that the ship was one of those scattered during the Black Crusade. Exploring it reveals much of the purpose behind this dispersal of vessels, and the Inquisition begins a galaxy-wide hunt for the other cult-ships. As for the Imperial Navy patrol that found the ship, it is never heard of again, and records are altered to show that all vessels perished during an earlier engagement with pirates in the Sector.

_796.M31 : The New Rebels_

On the Imperial world of Akrov's Gift, members of the nobility make a coup against the Governor, supported by revolutionary cells from among the workers of the planet's great Manufactoriums. Denouncing the burden of the Adeptus Administratum's heavy Tithe, they reject the rule of Terra, refusing to be part of the Imperium any longer. Imperial Guard forces sent to reclaim the planet are met with fierce resistance, and the moment the rebels seem to have lost momentum, a single squad of Sons of Horus launch a strike on the Astra Militarum's headquarters, slaughtering the commanders and leaving the rest of the Imperial forces leaderless. As Sector command ponder its options and Space Marine forces are dispatched to the area, an Inquisitor orders the Exterminatus of Akrov's Gift. The planet is destroyed, but many Akrovians manage to escape on ships of their own, vowing revenge against the Imperium. For centuries to come, the Sector is plagued by piracy as the descendants of those survivors continue their bloody crusade, led by the same handful of Traitor Astartes.

_804.M31 : The Proxy War_

A series of brutal murders among the priesthood of the shrine-world Nemetar draws the attention of the Inquisition. Acolytes uncover two rival cults among the local Ministorum. One, heavily represented among the record-keepers and the highest-ranking priests, is affiliated with the Fifteenth Legion. The second has spread like a disease among the lower orders and the hordes of pilgrims that come to Nemetar to pray, and bears marks of the Plague God's own Traitor Legion. Conflict between the cults escalate as the investigation continues, the Chaos Marines behind each heretical faction seeking to destroy the other even at the risk of exposure. In the end, though several temples have to be abandoned and destroyed due to contamination, the cults are destroyed and Nemetar declared sanctified once more.

_824.M31 : The Arena's Uprising_

In the high spires of hive-world Mammon, the Imperial nobility entertains itself by watching gladiatorial fights between slaves and alien beasts. One gladiator is a prisoner from a feral world, officially claimed as a recruiting ground for the Space Marine Legions – which only increases the excitement of the nobles as they watch him carve other combatants to pieces. Unbeknownst to them, that feral-worlder was a shaman of his tribe, and the journey through the Warp to Mammon has exposed him to infernal forces. As he is made to participate in a particularly large battle, the shaman rouses the other gladiators in revolt against their captors. They slaughter the guards before spilling into the rest of the spires, where the violence and the symbolism of their deeds tear the Warp open and summon warriors of the World Eaters Legion, who fight alongside the gladiators to set the spires of Mammon ablaze. By the time Imperial forces arrive, the spires are ash, and both gladiators and World Eaters are gone – but the story spreads like wildfire, growing more wild and improbable with every telling, and soon the whole of Mammon is in rebellion against the nobility.

_857.M31 : The Fleshless Curse_

On the forge-world of Ikxxi-Nine, where atmospheric conditions require even the lowliest tech-thrall to be fitted with heavy augmentations to be able to work, there is an outbreak of daemonic contagion within one of the augmetic facilities. Those afflicted see their cybernetics grow and mutate, and are driven to psychosis. Those who survive to reach the final stage of the affliction split apart in a shower of gore and metal, serving as a gateway through which an Iron Warrior can step through. Taking control of the infected, the sons of Perturabo launch an invasion of Ikxxi-Nine. Iron Hands forces are sent to deal with the situation, and after several months of brutal, gruelling fighting, the planet is secured, though each of the forge-cities afflicted with the technomantic curse is razed to the ground in the process.

_862.M31 : Open Minds_

In the Five Hundred Worlds, lodges among the middle and upper classes of Jigraltar's population become more and more popular, drawing hundreds and then thousands of members to their meetings. There, they discuss various philosophical subjects, as well as the arts and the history of both within the Imperium. A text discovered in the planet's millennia-old ruins spreads across the lodges, and within a few months the world is in the throes of a Slaaneshi uprising as all members are consumed by the heresy within the book, which was the journal of a Third Legion warrior during the Heresy. This memetic agent spreads fast, on vox-transmissions and whispered by sane-looking infectees. On Guilliman's orders, the entire Jigraltar system is quarantined, and the Avenging Son dispatches a full Chapter of his Legion to suppress the uprising before the Inquisition decides to burn the planet.

Amidst the madness and devastation, three Emperor's Children Legionaries are sighted. Interrogation of the cultists reveal that they call themselves the Marquis of Enlightenment. It is believed that one of the Marquis was the author of the blasphemous text that triggered the uprising. After five years of war, the Ultramarines declare Jigraltar free of the taint, though only two of the Marquis are confirmed dead, along with nearly half of the planet's population.

_888.M31 : The Peril of Knowledge_

More than a century after the Proclamation, the Ordo Malleus gather in great number on the moon of Jerya, collating their information about various uprisings that have occurred across the Imperium since the Black Crusade. Together, the Inquisitors come to the conclusion that each of the nine Traitor Legions has devised its own means to bypass the Cadian Gate and send small groups of warriors into the rest of the galaxy. As they debate the best course of action, kill-teams of the Alpha Legions launch a coordinated assault on the moon. Less than one Inquisitor in ten, and very little of the gathered intelligence, escapes the following slaughter.

_021.M32 : The Twisted Crusade_

The Imperial force labelled "Crusade Dominicus" by the Administratum is sent to exterminate the xenos species known as the Gthrathalex under the command of Warmaster Ethreius Vex. Mere days after the fleet translates into the xenos' territory, it is cut off from reinforcements and resupply as the currents of the Warp shift and the path through which it came is blocked by Warp Storms. The Crusade Dominicus is declared lost, and ceremonies of mourning take place on a hundred worlds.

Ten years later, the Warp Storms dissipate. To the surprise of the Imperium, the forces of the Crusade return, leaving behind them the dead worlds of the Gthrathalex. Ethreius even still leads them, having triumphed over the xenos despite the lack of support. However, before the Imperium can celebrate, the Crusade forces launch a surprise attack on the Imperial Port of Crimson Rock. The space station is captured and becomes the headquarters of the renegade Crusade troops as they launch a self-titled "campaign of liberation" upon half a dozen worlds. Ethreius claims that the Imperium does not deserve the loyalty of its subjects, and builds his own kingdom from the territory his forces capture. The rethoric employed by the renegade Warmaster is very similar to that of the Proclamation, though no Heretic Astartes are sighted among the traitors' forces.

A retribution fleet is dispatched, accompanied by elements of the Seventh and Ninenteenth Legions. As the war between the rebels and the Imperium escalates, the truth slowly emerges : the Crusade Dominicus was approached by renegade elements during their isolation and, desperate for support against the atrocities of the Gthrathalex, Ethreius warily accepted it. Yet, when the Raven Guard kill-teams make it aboard Ethreius' capital ship, the _Axiom of Loyalty_, they find that the Warmaster is dead already – and has been so for years, judging by the decomposition of his body.

_107.M32 : Forget the Past_

Since the days of the Great Crusade, the world of Baryon Secundus has served as a place to keep records. Amidst the cool, dry crypts, untold billions of parchments are stored, containing everything from tales of the Long Night to the latest shipments of foodstuffs from nearby agri-worlds. That legacy ends when one of the record-keeping clans rise against the Imperium, proclaiming that the history they have managed for so long is naught but lies, created to serve the tyranny of Terra and the False Emperor. Taking the image of burning book as their emblem, these heretics begin to systematically destroy all records. Word Bearer warriors manifest amidst the pyres, and guide the rebels to new heights of depravity and fanaticism, until all of Baryon Secundus is ablaze, with the cultists embracing new, heretical knowledge. By the time the retribution forces of the Dark Angels arrive, there is nothing left to save of the priceless, age-old records of Baryon Secundus. The Inquisition is left to wonder what secrets the Seventeenth Legion sought to destroy.

_150.M32 : A New Weapon_

A STC Template is discovered containing tremendous advancements in laser technology. Despite the efforts of the Mechanicus to keep it a secret, knowledge of this discovery and its potential spread across the Imperium. Knowing that this could lead to a great improvement of the Imperium's common soldiers' might, cults beholden to several Traitor Legions make moves to either seize the template or destroy it. Manipulating factions within the Imperium, the cults cause a minor civil war to erupt above the forge-world Kantrael. In the confusion, strike teams of Chaos Marines make planetfall and attempt to reach the Template. Thanks to the efforts of the Skitarii guardians and several companies of Space Marines (comprised of elements of the Salamanders, Raven Guard and Blood Angels), these attempts fail, and the situation in orbit is soon resolved. Several hundreds cultists and their pawns are identified and executed by the Inquisition, and Kantrael soon becomes the first center of production of the new portable model of lasgun. Much more effective and cheaper to build, this weapon is decreed by the High Lords of Terra as the new standard issue for all Imperial Guard forces, replacing the Great Crusade-era autoguns, which used solid ammunition.

_200.M32 : The Ascension of the Faithful_

After centuries of politicking and growing influence, the Ecclesiarchy makes a bid to make its leader, the Ecclesiarch, into a permanent member of the High Lords of Terra. In the months leading to the gathering where the decision will be officialized, Veneris II, the current Ecclesiarch, manages to survive an estimated seventy-six assassination attempts. Some of these are made by political rivals within the Imperium, but the vast majority are later traced back to heretical cults with ties to the dreaded Seventeenth Legion.

The survival of the Ecclesiarch can be largely attributed to the cadre of Custodians who, for reasons of their own, leave the Imperial Palace to serve as Veneris' bodyguards in the days before the formal announcement. Though the Custodians don't share their motives, Veneris doesn't shy from using their presence as proof that the God-Emperor Himself approves of his plans.

Once Veneris II takes his permanent seat among the High Lords, the Custodians depart, returning to their other duties. Within the year, Veneris is assassinated, killed in his own chambers within the Imperial Palace itself, with a Dark Eldar dagger buried in his chest and an expression of untold agony on his face. His successor (heavily investigated and found innocent of any part in the murder) makes no mention of the manner of Veneris' demise in his own ascension speech. Investigation by the Ordo Xenos points toward the renowned, Commoragh-born Dark Eldar killer known as the Blade of Ptesh. Who hired the xenos, however, remains a mystery – and, despite the best efforts of the Ordo Xenos, the Blade of Ptesh remains beyond the reach of Imperial retribution.

_243.M32 : Forbidden Lore_

During his hunt of a sect of daemon worshipers, the Ordo Malleus Inquisitor Damasko discovers one of the Proclamation's cult-ships. The ship landed on an asteroid in an abandoned system, and has been used as a base of operation for rebel and heretical activities throughout the Sub-Sector. After slaying its defenders, Damasko studies the forbidden texts contained within, learning much about the methods and philosophies of the Arch-Traitor's pawns. His treatise, _Paths to Darkness_, becomes a useful tool to members of the Inquisition, and Damasko is posthumeously recognized for his contribution to the great work of keeping the Imperium safe and free of heretical taint – a whole century after his summary execution by a Conclave of his peers, who thought him gone renegade. The _Paths _become mandatory reading for many Inquisitors' apprentices, though the Acolytes are watched carefully during the period of reading for the slightest sign of heretical sympathies.

_327.M32 : The Apostasy War_

The Wars of Faith, which were thought over after the unification of the Ecclesiarchy and the acknowledgement of the Imperial Creed by both the High Lords and the Primarchs, erupt again. After a century of growing tension following the rise of the Ecclesiarch to the High Council, factions within the Ecclesiarchy turn to violence, denouncing each others as heretics and blasphemers. Things come to a head when the current Ecclesiarch, Dominicus III, is murdered in the Ophelia system by the Blade of Ptesh, who manages to elude the Imperium's security and assassinate the Ecclesiarch for the second time. Once again, there is no direct evidence indicating the assassin's sponsor, though the following decades cast the Inquisition's suspicion in one particular direction.

During the Synod to decide Dominicus' successor, the Cardinals come to physical blows, and the fragile unity of the Imperial Creed is sundered. War erupts between the Cardinals' domains, as armies of Fratris Templars are pitched against one another. Billions die and worlds burn, and xenos kingdoms surge again as the Cardinals call upon the Imperial Guard Regiments of their homeworlds to wage war in their name. All the while, the Space Marine Legions remain firmly neutral, refusing to involve themselves lest the war escalate into a new Heresy and struggling to hold the line on the suddenly undermanned fronts. All of the Primarchs' efforts to broker peace fail in front of the Templars' fanaticism and the sheer hubris of the Cardinals (though both Guilliman and Sanguinius believe that there are other, more sinister hands at work).

In the end, the Grand Master of Assassins act, without the authorization of the equally divided High Lords. Nearly the entirety of the Synod is purged, along with thousands of lesser clerics, all of them condemned to death for their betrayal of the Emperor's laws and ideals. The power of the Ecclesiarchy is crippled, though when a new moderate Ecclesiarch is finally chosen once more (more than thirty years after the death of Dominicus III), his seat among the High Lords remain.

_362.M32 : The Thousand Rebellions_

In the aftermath of the Apostasy War, hundreds of world denounce the Imperial Creed, disgusted by the greed of the Ecclesiarchy's priests and the destruction wrought by their petty ambitions. Churches and cathedrals are burned and cast down in a wave of iconoclasm not seen since the Great Crusade itself. These worlds are easy prey to Horusian agitators, and within weeks the uprisings against the Ecclesiarchy become full-on rebellions against the Imperium. On many of these worlds, Sons of Horus are seen leading the rebellion, their armor free of the most perverse Chaos imagery to avoid disturbing the mortal dupes. Warriors from other Traitor Legions are also sighted, taking positions of influence within the revolutionary regimes – though most of the renegade Astartes refrain from overtly taking over, lest their deception be revealed.

The Imperium reacts quickly, and Astra Militarum and Legiones Astartes forces are sent to bring the rebellious worlds back into the fold. Slowly, over the course of several decades, most of the lost systems are reclaimed, though not a few are dragged into localized Warp storms when the rebels grow desperate enoug to turn to sorcery. Of particular note during that period is the Hekkarian Nexus, a coalition of no less than twenty-seven rebel systems bound by a common alliance. United under the leadership of the Hekkarian Council, a gathering of heretics and Traitor Astartes, the Nexus manage to resist the Imperium for over half a century. By the time the armies of the Emperor manage to breach its defenses, the Nexus has managed to build its own gene-craft facilities, transforming hundreds of young men from the twenty-seven worlds into Traitor Legionaries of the Sixteenth Legion's bloodline.

Ultimately, the Nexus is defeated, and each of its worlds subjected to Exterminatus, while the annals of the Imperium are expunged of any and all references to its existence. But, despite the best efforts of the Space Wolves and Raven Guard Legions, some of the Traitor Marines bred within these facilities survive and escape, joining piratical and mercenary forces.

_544.M32 : The Beast Falls_

The Primarch Sanguinius appears before the Imperial High Command of the Segmentum Tempestus and takes command of a vast fleet, which he leads to the long-abandoned Ullanor System. There, the forces of the Imperium find a new Ork Empire, built upon the grave of the one destroyed during the Great Crusade. After several months of brutal fighting, the greenskins are purged, with the Angel slaying their leader, the self-proclaimed Great Beast, in single combat. At his recommendation, the Inquisition performs Exterminatus upon Ullanor using cyclonic torpedoes, despite the protests of the Adeptus Mechanicus, who want to study the strange technology developed by the Orks on the planet. The shattered pieces of the world are scoured clean of all traces of life, and the accursed system's location is struck down from the data-banks of all warships involved in its destruction. When asked about the reasons for the destruction, the Angel only mentions that this is necessary to "advert Armageddon".

* * *

AN : Yes, after a month of silence (due to me focusing on the Roboutian Heresy and my submission to the Black Library), this story is back !

A different format this time. The reason being that I was doing research for the next chapter of the Roboutian Heresy by reading various codexes, and I wanted to do something like the timelines that are present in these books. Don't worry, we will return to the traditional format in the next chapter.

... Nothing more to say today. As always, please tell me what you thought of this chapter, and how you think/hope this story will continue. Unlike with the Fifteenth Ascendant, I do not have an ending already planned, so any suggestion could end up shaping the fate of that particular timeline.

Zahariel out.


	16. The Kingdoms of the Eye

_Maeleum Datum : 579.M32_

On the daemon world of Maeleum, Horus Lupercal contemplated the progress of the Long War. Since the Proclamation, the Warmaster of Chaos had kept a close eye on the situation outside the Eye of Terror. At his command, the Cabalites had created an extension of the infernal clocks through which the Theft of Time had been performed and the temporal flux of the Horusian territories stabilized. Within his throneroom, they had built a vast device that could be used to peer at almost any location within the wider galaxy, its complex mechanisms answering to the will of the Warmaster alone. Through it, Horus had watched the growth of the cults and rebellions within the Imperium – both those who ultimately served him, and those seeded by his brothers.

He watched the waxing and waning of rebellion and Chaos throughout the galaxy, and, with an eye sharpened by his trials during the Heresy, acted where and when it would benefit his ultimate ends the most. Most of the Cabalites were permanently stationed on Maeleum, with only a few left to provide their expertise to the Horusian warlords. It was they who acted as Horus' hand, dispatching visions and dreams to sensitive souls on Imperial worlds that the Warmaster judged to be in the correct configuration for disruption. Horus could do easily do it himself, of course, but his overwhelming power often caused all but the strongest minds to simply shatter at the contact.

At least, that was the reason he had given to the Cabalites, and none had questioned it.

As the effects of the Proclamation rippled throughout the Imperium, so too had the situation within the Eye of Terror been affected. The rituals of Magnus had spread across the Legions, sometimes exchanged or given as gifts, sometimes stolen or bastardized. Some Legions had proven more apt at making use of them than others – though even the World Eaters had managed to inspire a few rebellions bloody enough for their priests of Khorne to open the way for them.

This was not to say that there was peace within the Eye, with all ambitions turned outward and the grudges and hatred that divided the Traitor Legions forgotten. Far from it. Their prison was aflame with a thousand conflicts waged by forces for whom the Long War held no appeal. Warbands that had broken free of their Legions, renegade forces of the Imperial Army, daemonic hosts, hordes of mutants and cultists raised from twisted daemon worlds by Chaos Lords seeking the favor of the Ruinous Powers – they all fought one another, and launched raids upon the territories of the Legions when they got too bold.

Even now, Abaddon was leading a sizeable portion of Horus' forces to put down a daemonic incursion that had reached one of the few worlds under the Warmaster's control that could produce foodstuffs with any reliability. The last report from the front had the First Captain battling the Neverborn amidst the jungles of Leparthes, in the shadow of the reptilian behemoths whose meat fed a not inconsiderable portion of Horus' dominion in the Eye.

Though he had entrusted much of the management of his territory in the Eye to his lieutenants in order to focus on the Long War, Horus still kept track of the various powers of the Eye. It would be the height of foolishness not to do so, for he knew that, even after the Legion Wars had been put on hold by his defeat of the Crimson Accords and Magnus' surrender, there were many who still eyed his throne and sought the glory of toppling him. For a start, he didn't believe for a moment that Magnus and his sons had forgotten who was ultimately responsible for Prospero's destruction.

After the end of the Crimson Accords and Ahriman's betrayal, the Thousand Sons had been attacked several times by forces that had thought them to be easy pickings. Those who had made it through the storms surrounding the handful of daemon worlds claimed by the Fifteenth Legion had been destroyed, their fates so inventively cruel that even the most crazed of raiders now sailed well clear of the sons of Magnus' borders. With the Cabalites now valued members of the Horusian dominion, there remained very few Thousand Sons beyond the territory of the Fifteenth Legion. Almost all sons of the Cyclops were focused on either pursuing their own arcane research or taking part in the Long War, using their psychic abilities and sorcerous knowledge to great effect.

With the distant guidance of the Fifteenth Legion, unbound psykers had managed to escape the harvests of the Black Ships. Individual psykers had fled from the Imperium hunters, and in some cases, they had even banded together to destroy small parties of Sisters of Silence – something which always earned that particular group of renegades the favor of the Thousand Sons, who well remembered the part the Sisterhood had taken in the Burning of Prospero. Following the instructions of the Sorcerers, these psykers eventually found their way to one of a handful of enclaves that their kindred had built. Hidden from the Imperium's sight on desolate worlds made inhabitable only through the constant use of their psychic abilities, these colonies hosted thousands of unbound psykers, who learned to use their powers and had built functioning societies.

Several circles of Thousand Sons had dedicated themselves to protecting these groups from discovery, knowing full well what the Imperium would do if it learned of them. Of course, their efforts hadn't been enough to hide the existence of these enclaves to Horus. Ahriman had come to him with that knowledge in person, and asked that they be left alone – arguing that they could be very useful resources in the Long War. Horus had indulged him, though he had seen through the Exile's justifications. For all that Ahriman had turned on his own Legion and bound his fate to the Warmaster, there was still much Tizcan sensibility left in him.

Other Thousand Sons sponsored cults of knowledge and sorcery within what passed for the Imperium's intellectual elite, using their pawns to gather tomes of forbidden lore and relics before coming to harvest them along with the most promising members of these societies. Not a few rebellions had been started by those whose eyes had been opened to the realities of the galaxy in that way – and so it was that, even in their hatred of him, the Thousand Sons served Horus' goals.

By contrast, the Night Lords were still loyal to Horus, bound to him by the will of their Primarch. Since delivering Moriana to Sicarius, Konrad hadn't left Kerlazium. The divide within the Eighth had only grown, and the duality that afflicted the Eighth Legion was reflected in its approach to the Long War. There was only one common point between the two : their obsession with _akhrali, _that precious liquid extracted from the damned souls imprisoned upon the Night Lords' homeworld. Not only was the liquid the foundation of their dark kingdom, feeding both the Legionaries themselves and their few living thralls, but it had proven very useful in amplifying the sorcerous abilities of psykers and witches. A not insignificant number of Sorcerers from other Legions were willing to pay a high price for samples of _akhrali_, though the Night Lords were loath to part with any quantity.

"_Three hundred slaves for a single bottle ? I have _seen _your so-called 'torture palaces', Night Lord. I know the quantities of _akhrali _produced daily within them. Do you take me for a fool ?"  
_"_No. I take you for someone who wants what only we can provide. _Four _hundred slaves."  
_Conversation overheard in a station in orbit of Kerlazium

The former Techmarine Xerkieri had designed and built vast factory-like buildings, where millions of souls were tormented by automated devices in order to extract the _akhrali _more efficiently. While less potent than that harvested through more personal means, the sheer quantity produced was enough to fuel what passed for the Eighth Legion's industry. In order to increase the number of souls used both in these pain factories and as slaves, the Legion was also encouraging the growth of criminal cartels within the Imperium. The Sorcerer Nephandim had discovered a way to brand mortals in life with a sorcerous mark that ensured that their soul would manifest on Kerlazium upon their death. Gangs all over the galaxy now used this mark as a way to distinguish their members, most of them unaware of its true meaning. For the millions of ghosts brought to Kerlazium by this discovery, Nephandim had been elevated among the inner circle of the First Captain, Zso Sahaal.

Meanwhile, the Night Lords who had embraced Chaos' potential had chosen to pursue quality over quantity where the souls they tormented were concerned. From the Warp-infested wastes of Kerlazium, they whispered into the ears of sleeping murderers, driving them to ever-greater depths of atrocity. Thousands of hive-cities were terrorized by the serial killers inspired by the Eighth Legion, and the Night Lords laughed at the fear they created and the dwindling in the population's faith in their superiors' abilities to protect them that followed. And when their puppets inevitably died, their mad spirits were dragged to Kerlazium, where the _akhrali _produced from their agonies was far sweeter and more potent than that extracted from common criminals.

Perturabo had kept his word after Horus had triumphed over Lorgar's and Magnus' alliance. The Lord of Iron had allied with the Warmaster – though unlike the Night Haunter, he had done so as an equal. The domains of the Fourth Legion remained independent from the Horusians, but defense pacts and trade accords had been forged between the two powers.

Weapons, ammunition and warmachines flowed from the industry lines of the Fourth Legion, while the Sons of Horus brought fresh slaves and resources taken from their father's Eye-born empire. The Iron Warriors controlled the greatest industrial base in the Eye of Terror, surpassed only by the infernal forge-worlds of the Dark Mechanicum – but where the heirs of Kelbor-Hal were divided and endlessly feuding among themselves, the bitter rivalries of the Fourth Legion were buried beneath their Primarch's overarching authority.

Even the blood-addled warbands of the Eye knew better than to attack the holdings of the Lord of Iron; not just because their defenses were all but impregnable, but because even in victory (however costly it might prove), they would draw Perturabo's cold, legendary ire. The Iron Warriors were also the last of the Traitor Legions to have dominions outside of the Eye of Terror : entire star systems whose existence had been purged from Imperial records during the Heresy, ruled with an adamantium fist by Fourth Legion warsmiths and their companies of transhuman warriors. Hidden from the Imperium, these small kingdoms were in contact with Perturabo's Triarchs.

Using Warp-infused technology, Perturabo's commanders made use of these distant domains. Forbidden technology was leaked to ambitious tech-priests, mercenary armies of mysterious origins provided to rebels, and elite Astartes strike forces made available to the enemies of the False Emperor. The warsmiths who controlled these islands of Iron Warriors territory were always extremely careful, unwilling to risk exposing themselves to the Imperium. Even so, despite all the security measures they took, the Inquisition eventually learned of their existence – though not of their location.

Across the galaxy, the hunt for the surviving traitors had redoubled, with the Imperial Fists leading the way, more determined than ever to find the Iron Warriors and purge them from the stars. Several minor dominions had already fallen, but the Lord of Iron considered them an acceptable price to pay when compared to the havoc their influence had wrought upon the Imperium. One of the warsmiths whose kingdoms was taken from him this way was Amarion, also known as the Blade-Breaker. Though his fortress world was lost to the combined efforts of the Seventh Legion and the Imperial Guard, Amarion himself survived, escaping the desolation aboard his battle-cruiser, the _Unforgiven Glory, _along with several dozens of his battle-brothers. In the fifty years that had passed since then, Amarion had become a plague upon trade across several Sectors of the Segmentum Tempestus, leading a disparate fleet of pirates and renegades with ruthless efficiency. It was said that Perturabo was pleased with his son's deeds – in as much as the Lord of Iron was ever pleased.

Some Legions were proving less suited for the new form the Long War had taken in the wake of the Proclamation. To the surprise of absolutely no one, the Twelfth was among these. Angron's threadbare sanity had collapsed in the wake of the Conclave, leaving only pure rage and bloodlust. The Daemon Primarch of the World Eaters had returned from his banishment at the edge of the Radiant Worlds, that region of the Eye where the psychic light of the Astronomican met the madness of the Warp.

There, the chosen of Khorne made war unending upon the hosts of the Emperor : legions of angelic figures, gleaming with golden light. At his side were hordes of Khorne's infernal legions, and those of his living sons who were mighty enough to endure at his side, and foolish enough to try to do so. Like most things where the followers of the War God were concerned, this served a purpose beyond the mere joy of endless carnage. The metaphysics involved in this burning war spread Angron's own fury beyond the borders of the Eye. Entire ships were lost to madness during Warp translation as they heard the distant echoes of the Red Angel's screams, and were dragged into the Eye, where those who survived were soon found by the Twelfth Legion.

By some dark miracle, the eight warlords appointed by Horus and who had divided the might of the World Eaters among them yet lived, and they had carved bloody trails across the Eye of Terror. Each of them led a Slaughtertide : a horde of World Eaters, blood-crazed mutants and cultists, and daemons of Khorne summoned by the slaughter that followed the Slaughtertide wherever they went. More akin to galactic disasters than armed forces, even the other Legions dreaded the coming of one of the Eight to their territory, and made great use of sorcery and offerings to twist the tides of the Warp so as to keep them at bay.

Such was the bloodshed they caused that it echoed in the Warp with enough strength to touch the souls of warriors and soldiers across the galaxy. Combined with visions of Angron and his daemonic allies battling the creatures born of the Emperor's psychic residue, this was enough to turn many to the bloody worship of Khorne. In the eye of these fools, Angron and his sons were brave rebels, who fought forever against all tyrants. They dedicated their own acts of bloodshed to them, and this was enough for the connection to be established, delivering the gore-soaked Eaters of Worlds outside the Eye of Terror.

The Death Guard, afflicted as it was with the bountiful "gifts" of Nurgle, were at a disadvantage in the new Long War too. No sane Imperial subject would consider aligning himself with such horrific beings, and the Death Lord himself despised sorcery and refused to trust in Magnus' rituals, instead designing their own horrific methods to commune with followers outside the Eye. So disgusting and vile were these ceremonies that no member of the Imperial nobility, no matter how debauched or corrupt, would ever consider using them. But Mortarion's sons had no interest in corrupting the pampered elites of the Imperium : instead, the witches working for the Death Lord under the threat of unimaginable torment sought to plant the seeds of rebellions within the oppressed masses. From the Plague Planet, they directed a network of cults among the lower classes. To the outside eye, these groups merely offered the safety of numbers, as members watched out for one another, giving help freely in the form of food, water, and protection from gangs and cruel overseers.

It was only in the inner circles that the truth of these groups was revealed, as they embraced mutation and disease as a source of strength. Unseen by the Imperium, keeping hidden from the Inquisition, these tainted communities were growing on thousands of worlds, drawing more and more members while their leaders grew ever more monstrous. Once they reached a critical mass, the dissension began, openly aimed at increasing the standards of living. At that point, either the Imperial authorities cracked down hard on the workers (thus driving even more into the arms of the cult) or they began negotiations, which gave the cult an opening to subvert them. It was quite a devious con, and one Horus wouldn't have expected from his dour brother.

In the Eye of Terror, the Dearth Guard's daemon worlds were kept secure not by their defenders, but because no other force could make war upon them and survive the environment. Though the corruption of the Plague God took a different form on each one, all of them were utterly hostile to forms of life not already infected by Nurgle's afflictions. Those who besieged the dominions of the Fourteenth Legion more often than not simply bombarded them from orbit until there was naught but ashes left, before using the shifting nature of the Eye to reshape the planet entirely. But destroying the sons of Mortarion completely was even harder now than it had been before their transformation on the way to Terra, and such would-be conquerors often found that the Death Guards had survived their assault when they rose from the ruins to slaughter the invaders. Very few warlords were left in the Eye now that were willing to assault a Death Guard world : even should they claim victory, the spoils were meagre and the costs high.

In their gilded cities of pleasure and pain, the Emperor's Children continued their pursuit of excess. They had received Magnus' rituals with delight, seeing the new opportunities this provided them. Small cabals of sons of Fulgrim, never more than squad-sized, plotted and schemed to find ways back to the Imperium in order to sate their debased lusts upon its population. Through sorcery and infernal pacts, they made contact with the cults of Slaanesh that plagued the galaxy. From the luxurious halls of the high-spires to the obscura dens of the underhives, the charismatic Legionaries spread their twisted philosophies, turning hedonistic conclaves into degenerate cults whose horrific acts soon rent the veil and helped their transhuman patrons come across.

Though all strata of Imperial society were vulnerable to their manipulations, the arrogance of the Emperor's Children made them focus their efforts on the higher classes. The sons of Fulgrim revelled in bringing down the good and great of the Imperium, reducing them to slaves to sensation and dragging all that was noble into the mud of excess and cruelty. They delighted in creating cults of personality which, under various disguises, manipulated the masses into overthrowing Imperial authorities before summoning their transhuman masters in planet-wide celebrations, at which point the charismatic tyrant proceeded to drag the world deeper and deeper into the abyss, until naught was left of its former self.

No sin was beyond the sons of Fulgrim, not even the ancient eugenic practices of the Old Night, which had created a thousand mutant bloodlines culled during the Great Crusade. By selective breeding and gene-splicing, families whose lineage had remained pure since the first diaspora of Humanity through the stars became monsters, hiding their inhuman aspects and hungers behind masks of stolen flesh. Billions of workers were transformed into little more than drones, their individuality stolen away by drugs and gene-twisting plagues, the Imperium only noticing what had happened when the recruiters of the Imperial Guard came to call only to find none of the tributes could learn to lift a lasgun. World after world was burning, purged by the loyalist Legions or obliterated outright by Exterminatus – and Horus' agents made sure that the stories of these events were suitably twisted to serve his needs, while the Imperium refused to let the truth spread.

In the sprawling, daemon-infested cities of the Third Legion, artisans whose minds were consumed by their obsession for their craft created items of unmatched beauty, presenting them to their patrons as gifts. These artefacts were then smuggled out of the Eye and to wealthy Imperial collectors, their souls soon succumbing to the cursed relics' corruption. In all these ways, despite their lack of unified leadership, the Emperor's Children were doing a great job at pulling the Imperium down into corruption, eroding its moral strength and deepening the distrust of its trillions-strong population into its God-Emperor-appointed masters.

Of Fulgrim himself there had been no sign since the Conclave. Horus knew that the Phoenician had withdrawn to his own hidden daemon world, abandoning his sons until his ever-changing whims demanded their service or worshipful attention once more. Had the Warmaster desired to, he could have found his brother – but there was no need. Like his Legion, Fulgrim had proven that he was a tool best left to his own designs : attempting to channel his capricious nature was an exercise in futility.

Despite Lorgar's withdrawal after Moriana's Declaration, the Word Bearers remained far more united than the Third Legion. The Dark Council had taken over, under the combined leadership of Erebus and Kor Phaeron. Through guile, cunning and blackmail, the Dark Apostle and the Master of the Faith had reclaimed their former prominent positions within the Seventeenth, and were now directing a campaign of underground warfare across the galaxy, calling upon instincts sharpened during the decades that had preceded the rebellion.

On the matter of the Proclamation, the Word Bearers were divided. Some recognized it as a strategic master-stroke, a way to turn the Traitor Legions' exile from a weakness into a strength. For while the exiled could make contact with their allies in the Imperium through sorcerous means, the Imperium could never hope to attack them in the Eye. But others believed Horus' lies to be heresy of the highest order. These fanatics believed that the Warmaster should have made the Primordial Truth obvious in his message, and re-ignite the flames of holy war in the name of Chaos. These warriors had not embraced the new War. Instead, they remained mired into the Legion Wars' mindset, guarding the Legion's daemon worlds and building weapons of apocalyptic power in preparation for what they believed to be an inevitable confrontation with the Horusians. In that regard, the remains of the Crimson Accords served them well, granting them access to the accumulated esoteric lore of the Thousand Sons.

A sizeable part of Horus' efforts within the Eye were dedicated to keeping track of these projects. Some, the Warmaster allowed to reach completion, seeing their potential if they could be captured – but most, he ordered to be subtly sabotaged in ways that cast the blame on the Apostles and Warpsmiths responsible. His spies also hunted for any clue as to the paths outside the Eye of Terror that the Word Bearers had secured, using them to send entire, Chapter-sized Hosts on holy quests.

The Ecclesiarchy bore the brunt of the Word Bearers' efforts outside the Eye. The Seventeenth Legion's hatred for the organization knew no bounds, and Kor Phaeron had sworn an oath upon the tattered remnants of his soul that he would see it disgraced and destroyed. Acknowledging that the mad cults they had employed as bolter fodder during the Heresy had little use in the new war – with the loyal Legions able and ready to crush any such pathetic insurrections – the Dark Council had adopted a different approach.

Instead of a horde of the Lost and the Damned, they focused on creating high-level agents, infused with Chaotic abilities, capable of acting as agents provocateur and assassins on par – and sometimes _greater –_ those of the Assassin Temples. These agents were created within highly secretive cults, which operated on century-long time frames. Using indoctrination and brainwashing, their members were made fanatically loyal to a cause they more often than not knew nothing about. Buried deep within the Imperium, these organizations acted on orders they did not understand, and not even Horus – nor, the Warmaster suspected, his skulking brother's heirs – knew them all.

Yet for all the threat that the Seventeenth Legion might pose to his supremacy, it was the Alpha Legion that worried Horus the most. Since the Broken Conclave, he had not seen or heard from Alpharius – if it had truly been his brother who had been on Zu'lasa, and not one of his body doubles. In the final days of the rebellion, the allegiance of the Twentieth, never quite as certain as the Warmaster would have liked, had become even more muddied. On Ullanor, Alpharius had offered him a priceless trove of intelligence on Dorn's defenses of the Solar system, before departing, telling him without words that his Legion's strength had been spent in the effort to gather this data. Yet as the home system of Humanity had burned, there had been reports of warriors clad in the Hydra's colors, fighting across that great battlefield without paying heed to the commands of Horus' warlords. _Most _had fought on the side of the rebels … but not all.

The new format of the Long War played to the strengths of the Alpha Legion more than it did for any other Traitor Legion. The fanatic devotion of the Seventeenth made it more difficult for the Dark Apostles to play the subtle games required to turn the followers of the Throne without breaking their minds with the truth of Chaos or the use of their brainwashing cults, while the operatives of the Hydra were expert at twisting truth and lie alike to make pawns of others. As far as Horus could tell, the Twentieth was responsible for dozens of civil wars which had crippled supply lines to Imperial war zones and destabilized Sectors upon which the loyal Legions counted for recruitment – and these were only the ones that hadn't escaped his gaze.

He didn't know where the Alpha Legion's main base was located, if it even had one. He suspected that the number of outposts of the Twentieth outside the Eye surpassed even that of the Fourth Legion. It also seemed that the sons of Alpharius could move in and out of the Eye of Terror at will. Outside the Eye, their lack of obvious Chaotic markings allowed them to disguise themselves as warriors from loyal Legions with nothing more than a new coat of paint on their armors.

An army of master conspirators, scattered across the galaxy with little if any cohesive leadership, its loyalties questionable and its skills undeniable. Sometimes, Horus felt as if he ought to pity those in the Imperium who knew of the Hydra's threat. They truly were a nightmare enemy.

From his throne, Horus watched it all, listening to the whispers of countless daemons and the reports of his spy-masters and Sorcerers. In his mind's eye, he held an image of the galaxy, considering every angle of the Long War, seeing where and when best to act to shift things to his advantage. Even now, with the nine Traitor Legions working to drag the Imperium into darkness in their own ways, the empire they had all built together remained strong. His loyalist brothers worked tirelessly to keep it standing, to repair what the heretics and the xenos tore down.

He knew that it would take time before he could ever hope to overthrow the Imperium and claim the glory that was rightfully his. But it was fine. He could play the game. He could be patient.

In the end, all would kneel to him.

* * *

AN : this took entirely too long to write, and ended up being the longest chapter of this story so far. Still, I am quite happy with how it ended up. Having learned of each Traitor Legion's modus operandi in the Long War, which one do you think is the most dangerous to the Imperium ? And, more importantly, which one do you want to see more of in future chapters ?

With this, we have entered what may be called "Season 2" of Prince of the Eye. The Devil has more or less pacified Hell and his fallen legions, and now the plotting and intrigues to overthrow Heaven's rule can begin in earnest.

What did you think of this chapter ? What do you hope to see in the next ones ? Tell me in your reviews ! The future of this story is very much still to be defined, and I have learned with The Fifteenth Ascendant that all it takes is a single comment to radically change my plans.

Zahariel out.


	17. The Coming of the Wolves

Of all the loyal Space Marine Legions, the Sixth had suffered more than most and less than some during the Heresy. Never the most numerous of Legions, it had sustained heavy casualties at Prospero, before being bled further at the battle of the Alaxxes Nebula by the Alpha Legion. Then had come the attempt at striking down Horus at Beta-Garmon, and the carnage of Yarant. Less than ten thousand warriors of the Rout had survived, and they arrived at Terra to find the planet ravaged, the traitors fleeing, and the Emperor all but dead.

Driven by fury and shame alike, the _Vlka Fenryka _threw themselves into the grim warfare of the Scouring. Acting as the Emperor's executioners one last time, they purged world after world of any trace of daemonic infestation. The champions of the Sixth Legion struck down many infernal lords during that dark time, regaining some of the honor they perceived they had lost. Russ himself hunted for the _Vengeful Spirit_, his hunt being thwarted when he reached the Cadian Gate and realized that going further was meaningless suicide. For years, the Wolf King remained on Cadia, guarding the Gate until Dorn and his Imperial Fists arrived to turn the planet into an impregnable stronghold. Only then did Russ depart, returning to Fenris to rebuild his decimated Legion.

In the decades that followed the Scouring, the Space Wolves underwent a great many changes. Between Horus' manipulations of the Legion and the loss of the Emperor's guidance, they no longer felt confident that they could act as the Imperium's executioners, for neither Russ nor his commanders trusted the newly appointed High Lords of Terra completely. The certitude that came with being the axe of the Master of Mankind was lost, and the Wolves' image within the Imperium, that of blood-soaked barbarians, was now a threat to them. With fear of the Traitor Legions imprinted deep within Mankind's collective psyche, there was a real possibility that the Imperium itself would turn against the Sixth Legion out of fear born of incomprehension and the Wolves' own playing upon their dreaded reputation.

Drawing upon Fenris' sagas, the Great Wolves decided that, instead of killers, they would become heroes. No longer would they be the dread executioners, sent to crush those who defied the Emperor's laws : instead, they would be champions, slaying the beasts and monsters that threatened the Imperium's peace. New Legionaries were raised from Fenrisian stock, their minds filled with tales of the glory to be found hunting down the monsters that dwelled among the stars rather than with the brutal necessity of purging those who defied the edicts of the Golden Throne.

The rebuilt Great Companies took to the stars, fighting on the fringes of the Imperium against Ork empires and other xenos threats, while dispatching smaller groups of warriors to answer the pleas for help of isolated system. And slowly, over the course of decades, the reputation of the Sixth Legion in the wider Imperium changed, as the memories of the Great Crusade faded, replaced by those of warriors in grey warplate striking down xenos abominations. The threat of excommunication diminished, helped by the intervention of Sanguinius, who intervened before the gathered High Lords in 658.M31 to renew his trust in all of his remaining brothers' loyalty.

As the Inquisition grew and divided into those who sought to defend Mankind against the taint of the Warp and those who sought to protect it from alien influences and menaces, many Inquisitors belonging to the latter category developed tight bonds with the Sixth Legion. A few Fenris-born Inquisitors helped cement that relationship, and soon, it wasn't rare for Inquisitors to be accompanied by a small cadre of _Vlka Fenryka _warriors, acting both as bodyguards and kill-teams when necessary. On hundreds of worlds, Acolytes of the Ordos worked to uncover alien plots or xenos monsters, before calling upon the sons of Russ to eliminate the threat with bolter and blade.

Meanwhile, as his sons carved a new place for themselves in the new Imperium, in his chambers within the Fang, Leman Russ brooded. The Wolf King was tormented by guilt, wondering if he could have saved the Emperor's life from Horus had he not abandoned his chance to stand on the walls of the Imperial Palace in pursuit of the opportunity to kill Horus himself. Despite his brothers' best efforts, he could see the Imperium slowly descend into superstition and tyranny, growing ever further from the Emperor's vision. For a time, immersing himself into the rebuilding of his Legion and the diplomatic work of reforging the Imperium in the wake of Horus' treachery was enough to keep his mind from such dark thoughts, but as peace returned to the galaxy, there were no more distractions left. Then came the Proclamation of Horus.

Russ had known that the Warmaster wasn't dead. The Wolf King was well versed in the ways of destiny and fate, and he knew that, if Horus hadn't been slain by the Emperor, then he would not simply perish from his wounds or be slain by another traitor. Horus' _wyrd _was a tangled and cruel one, a doom that lingered over the future of all Humanity. And yet, Russ also knew from bitter experience that he could not hope to be the one who would end the Warmaster's life. He had tried that before, and it had failed then. Perhaps Horus was weaker now than he had been at Beta-Garmon, but so was Russ, his spirit drained by the exertions of the Heresy.

Instead, Russ turned his sights to another goal. If his failure had contributed in the Emperor's fall, then he could atone for them by enabling the restoration of the Master of Mankind. With Horus and the other traitor Primarchs manipulating the population of the Imperium from the Eye of Terror, only the leadership of the Emperor could ensure that the corruption of Chaos could be kept at bay – and Russ would not trust on the Inquisition, let alone the Ecclesiarchy, to defend the gates of Humanity's soul.

After delegating most of his responsibilities to the Great Wolves, Russ delved into the accumulated lore of Fenris. He put aside his martial ways and embraced the more intellectual aspects of his transhuman nature. Using the contacts his Legion had built with the Inquisition, he arranged for restricted tomes to be delivered to the Fang, and sent parties of warriors to remote parts of the galaxy in search of knowledge from the Dark Age of Technology – and even older epochs.

The Wolf King worked in this manner for several centuries, developing partnerships with conspiracies of Inquisitors and even brokering deals with Craftworld Eldar, exchanging their lore for relics of their fallen empire or the mercy of Imperial forces. The vaults of the Fang were filled with ancient and alien wonders, yet still Russ seemed no closer to finding what he sought.

Perhaps his quest was in vain, or perhaps it would only have taken him a few more years – or a few millennia to complete. In the end, no one would ever know, for as Leman Russ had focused on salvaging the future of Mankind through the Emperor's resurrection, his Legion's old enemies sought to destroy him and all he had worked for.

In the year 666.M32 (a numerology which drew upon ancient human superstitions and fears), the Thousand Sons Legion launched its greatest military operation outside the Eye of Terror since the Siege of Terra. For decades, cultists and operatives of the Fifteenth Legion had worked through the Segmentum Obscurus. Pirate warbands drew forces away from Fenris, while distrust in the Sixth Legion grew as witches and demagogues sought to resurrect the old fears. Kill-teams attached to the Inquisition were ambushed by daemon-backed hunters who sought not to kill, but to capture, dragging their victims to secret lairs and laboratories. There, the Space Wolves were tortured using science and sorcery until they transformed into Wulfen, which were drugged and put into stasis.

As the schemes of the Thousand Sons reached completion, these maddened warriors were unleashed within the halls of Imperial power on a dozen highly-developed worlds. Driven to insanity by the torments they had endured, these Wulfens – who still bore recognizable Sixth Legion insignias – slaughtered hundreds of Imperial dignitaries before being put down. Terror seized these worlds as the images of the carnage were broadcast by treacherous agents.

With their circles of advisors whispering in their ears that they must take a stand or risk rebellion, the Governors of these worlds made their choice. Despite the growing panic, they did not dare openly declare war upon the Sixth Legion. Instead, they sent flotillas and soldiers to Fenris, to bring the bodies of the Wulfen before Leman Russ and demand answers from the Wolf King himself. Select diplomats were assigned to these fleets, and a tense calm descended in their departure.

These diplomats, however, were no loyal servants of the Throne, but agents of the Thousand Sons. As the ships made course through the Warp for Fenris, they enacted vile rituals and sabotaged the Geller Fields. Sorcerers of the Fifteenth Legion and their Rubricae troops manifested aboard the vessels, while plague of madness and mutation ravaged the crew and soldiers aboard. Elsewhere, dark rituals and conspiracies centuries in the making brought other forces to bear, as Daemon Princes of Tzeentch that had not stalked the galaxy for aeons were brought back into the Materium.

A new Black Crusade had begun, formed of the Imperium's own strength turned against one of its most loyal Legions through the machinations of the Thousand Sons. When the Warp opened at the edge of Fenris system and disgorged a horde of daemonships and tainted vessels, a single warcry echoed across the vox and the system's Aether : _"Revenge for Prospero !"_

Like befitted a Legion's home system, Fenris was well-defended, but while it had plenty of space stations and other defenses, its defenders had been slowly bled dry by the growth of piratical activity throughout the Segmentum. The Black Crusade smashed through the outer defenses, making for Fenris itself. In the Fang, Russ assembled the forces at his disposal – disparate elements of all Great Companies, as well as nearly the entire strength of the Thirteenth, returned from a brutal campaign against a Rak'Gol uprising. The Wolf King believed that the Fang would be the primary target of the invaders, but he was wrong.

The Chaos forces made planetfall all across the planet, and the Daemon Princes leading them began to build vast, nightmarish structures upon the ice and waters of the planet. These Chaos constructions strained the world's unstable nature even further, threatening to pull it apart. The scheme of the Thousand Sons was revealed : they sought to obliterate Fenris itself, dragging its pieces into the Warp where they would become the fiefdoms of the Daemon Princes that had joined the Black Crusade. Convinced that the hand of Magnus was behind this, Russ commanded his Rune Priests to find where the Cyclops was hiding – but they could not find him.

Despite his misgivings, Russ knew that he had no choice. Already, the skies above the Fang were filled with crimson clouds, and blood and tears rained from the heavens as men and women were turned insane by unholy visions that haunted their every waking moment as well as their dreams. The earth shook, though it wasn't yet the season for it, and ancient monsters were rising from the depths to prey upon the terrified tribes. This seemed like the end times : the infernal structures had to be cast down before Fenris tore itself apart.

Taking his most elite warriors with him, Russ left the Fang and went on a pilgrimage across Fenris, hunting down the nine Daemon Princes and their followers. One by one they fell to his blade, banished back to the Realms of Chaos. As his quest went on, however, Russ grew further and further from the Fang, while communications with the warriors still stationed in the Legion's fortress grew ever more erratic as conditions continued to deteriorate.

It was then that Magnus' trap sprung. From the portal to the Underverse known as Syrtyr's Door, the Crimson King himself emerged, accompanied by a vast daemonic legion. As his sons and their allies laid siege to Fenris within the Materium, Magnus had led an invasion of Fenris' psychic reflection within the Sea of Souls. The disturbances this had caused had been noticed by the Rune Priests, but their significance had been lost in the face of the more obvious threat they faced.

"_Your petty ancestral spirits are nothing but pale reflections of true power, as befits the pathetic creations of childish minds. Muspjall burns in the fires of Change, the souls of the unworthy dead now fuel for Tzeentch's great engines. And as for your Erlking … his tricks could not deceive _me._"  
_Declaration of Magnus the Red during the breach of the Fang

After laying waste to much of the Fang, destroying the Legion's greatest reserve of gene-seed and plundering the treasure vaults where Russ had stored the fruits of his agents' quests, Magnus withdrew. On the way back to Syrtyr's Door, the Crimson King sent psychic messages to Russ, taunting him with his many failures, telling him that he too would now know what it felt like to watch his home burn and be unable to protect it. When the Wolf King arrived to find the Fang aflame, his rage grew beyond measure. On the spot, he appointed his second-in-command Bjorn as the regent of the Legion, while he took the Thirteenth Great Company with him in pursuit of Magnus and his infernal host.

Russ and the entire Thirteenth Great Company vanished through Syrtyr's Door, which closed soon after, never to re-open again in spite of all the efforts of the Rune Priests. The Underverse of Fenris was in a state of total anarchy, with gods that had been worshiped by the planet's populations for millennia destroyed by Magnus' demonic horde. For entire generations afterwards, Bjorn and his brothers had to work with the Inquisition to examine the beliefs of the Fenrisian tribes, searching for any signs of Chaotic influence. Entire clans were exterminated, and daemonic spirits that had remained hidden on the planet after Magnus' departure were exorcised or bound within sites of eldritch power that were forbidden to all, their dark legacy recorded in new sagas.

Though Magnus returned to Sortiarius, there was no sign of Leman Russ. However, in the years that followed the battle of Fenris, rumors began to circulate within the Eye of Terror. These tales spoke of great, wolf-like beasts that hunted across the storm-wracked regions of the Eye, seeking the heart's blood of any who had ever fought under the banner of the Eye of Horus. They could be slain, but upon defeat would merely dissolve into black smoke, leaving no trace of their passing. According to the Neverborn that Sorcerers from all Traitor Legions summoned and interrogated, these were the dreams of Leman Russ and his lost warriors, manifesting in the Eye.

* * *

AN : this chapter was inspired by the Benandanti of _Infernum_, which are basically humans chosen by nature whose dream-forms are werewolves that appear in Hell to hunt down demons. You may think I am joking, but I am not. The setting of _Infernum _is _amazing _: there is a reason it inspired me to start this fic. The rest of the chapter was entirely built around the idea of creating their equivalent for this setting. By the way, did you know that there is no canon date for the Battle of the Fang, just that it happened in M32 ? In fact, I read somewhere that it's not even canon anymore. Can anyone confirm/deny that ?

I am on vacation right now, and I am going to try and publish one chapter every day until Halloween - and the next chapter of _Warband of the Forsaken Sons _before the end of the week, though that one is more uncertain. While the Angel War for the Roboutian Heresy is nowhere near complete (it's not even properly _started_), I have an idea for an interlude of sorts, like I did last year at the same period. I am thinking of writing several of those for the RH before the next big chapter, both to keep you interested and to set up several plot threads. The Angel War will take place all across the Sol system, so I have a lot of planning to do. There is a wall in my apartment where I have put post-its of the planets, their known moons/features, and the different things I am planning to happen there during the Angel War. It ... _may _look like something you would find in the house of a serial killer.

As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and await your feedback. A lot of you wanted to see more of the loyal Primarchs, and while I know this isn't exactly what you had in mind, I hope you still like what I did with Russ and his Thirteenth Great Company, as well as the place of the Wolves in the new Imperium.

Zahariel out.


	18. The Saint of Chaos

Since its foundation, the Ecclesiarchy had been plagued with corruption, fanaticism and petty power-plays. But while its high ranks were full of the arrogant, the ambitious and the greedy, the lowly priests who walked among the Imperium's huddled masses preaching the word of the Emperor were generally true to their faith – though they were still often fanatical and prone to violence against any perceived sinners.

One such priest was Thoranos Elijah, born and raised within the Invernus Sector in the last century of the thirty-second millennium. An orphan of the underhive, Thoranos had been selected by the Ecclesiarchy for his intelligence, his charisma, and his true belief in the God-Emperor. After being ordained, he chose to turn away from the Ecclesiarchy's byzantine hierarchy, instead returning to the starless depths of metal and violence where he had been born. There, Thoranos sought to bring the light of the Emperor's word to the gangs, the cast-offs and the abandoned.

Thoranos preached that, while the denizens of the underhive lived harsh lives, those were still gifts of the Emperor, and must be cherished and protected – and not thrown away carelessly. Using his contacts among the Ecclesiarchy, he set up public kitchens and built churches where, in between sermons, the destitute could rest in the safety of the Emperor's protection. His sincerity got him the respect of the underhivers, and though the violence did not entirely stop – for not even the Emperor Himself could have silenced the guns of an entire underhive – the cruel practices of the gangs diminished as their faith grew. Some of Thoranos' superiors noticed his efforts, and began to recruit the most civilized of the gangs into the militias of the Fratris Templars. While Thoranos was glad to see his work acknowledged and the gangers elevated to more noble positions, he himself didn't aspire to anything other than remaining within the underhive, doing the Emperor's work.

Unbeknownst to Thoranos himself, however, his destiny was to be much greater. The threads of his fate burned bright in the Sea of Souls, drawing the attention of varied powers. Had his destiny be allowed to reach its natural end, Thoranos would have become a holy prophet of the Imperial Creed who would have brought reform to the Ecclesiarchy across entire Sectors, perhaps even rising to the seat of Ecclesiarch in order to renew the organization's dedication to its founding ideals. But this was not to be.

In the Imperial Palace, the Custodes divined the will of their silent master through the Emperor's Tarot, and dispatched a squad of their own to guard Elijah's life. While rare, this was not the first time they had done so : the Custodes' defense of the Emperor's life took many forms, including preventing threats to the Throneworld from arising in the first place through subtle actions. The ship left the Solar system, making full speed for the Invernus Sector.

It never arrived. Battered by empyric tempests, the Geller Field failed, and the vessel was swarmed by daemonic entities. The Custodes fought long and bravely, but in the end, they were overwhelmed, and the ship was lost with all hands. In the decades to come, it would be discovered that this had been more than just another random tragedy of Warp navigation.

In the depths of the underhive, Thoranos was wracked with nightmares. Long had the humble preacher been tormented by the suffering and abject living of the Imperium's lowest citizens, but now his nights were filled with much worse torment. He saw ruined cities under burning skies, where things that had once been humans were driven to cannibalism and other desperate measures to survive. He dreamt of once-proud, decaying warships marked by war and fighting losing battles against violent storms. Within the halls of fallen temples and cathedrals, his dream-self encountered emaciated figures which looked at him with pitiful eyes, silently begging for succour. Within castles and strongholds that fell to pieces even as they were built, he saw angels with scorched wings struggling to build a legacy, forever doomed to fail by the very nature of their environment.

Though only a lowly priest, Thoranos had been a star pupil of the Ecclesiarchy. He recognized that his visions were showing him the Hell where sinners, traitors, mutants and heretics were consigned to – but it was a very different place from what he had been told. Instead of the fiery pits of eternal agony, there was only a slow, abject misery, devoid of any hope – a broken cosmos where entropy reigned and all good things had faded away.

In the end, it was Thoranos' compassion which was his downfall. The suffering of the damned was too much for him to bear. In his mind, no crime could justify such punishment, and any god that decreed otherwise must be a cruel and unjust one. So did the seeds of heresy finally sprout within the soul of Thoranos Elijah; and, in their towers on Sicarius, the Dark Apostles of the Word Bearers rejoiced. Long had the disciples of Lorgar worked to twist Thoranos against the False Emperor. With sorcerous rituals, they had sent the Neverborn against the Custodes' ship; with spells and entreaties to the Dark Gods, they had manipulated the preacher's dream, sending him altered, hand-picked visions of the Eye of Terror. Through their efforts, Thoranos' destiny had been corrupted : instead of being a messianic figure for the Ecclesiarchy, he would become a saviour of the damned.

In the years that followed, Thoranos slowly abandoned his faith in the God-Emperor completely. He never stopped believing that the Master of Mankind was a god, simply rejected the idea that the Emperor was a god _deserving _of worship. His sermons slowly changed, focusing more on the notion of the people helping one another rather than praying for the Emperor's aid or salvation in death. At the same time, he began to build his own power structure, recruiting gang leaders and other community pillars with the promise of constructing better lives for all of them. The notion that it was the duty, the _nature _of human beings to help each other spread across the underhive, bringing an unprecedented era of peace and prosperity that was barely noticed by the spire-born.

During that time, Thoranos grew more and more obsessed with the suffering of the damned. His visions continued, now containing actual discourse between him and the figures he saw : they knew he wanted to help them, and gave him the knowledge he needed. As Thoranos' psychic potential blossomed, he was able to make contact with greater and greater entities within the Realms of Chaos and the Eye of Terror, his mind interpreting everything it witnessed to fit his vision of the Lost and the Damned as a betrayed, abandoned and unjustly punished people. And as he did so, more and more pieces of his soul fell away, replaced by an unbending conviction.

Thoranos never embraced the worship of Chaos or the Ruinous Powers : he forged his own dark faith, grown from the seeds planted by the Word Bearers but shaped into something of his own design. He began to speak of his visions at sermons, depicting the lost souls of the damned as pitiful wretches that needed the help of the living to be freed of their unjust torment. Aided by his growing psychic powers, he was able to convince many to assist him. In the darkness of the underhive, hidden from their masters' attention by growing productivity and lower crime rates, the preparations began. Psykers were hidden from the Black Ships, ritual components were smuggled from off-world, and believers were shipped off to other star systems to spread Thoranos' message.

In the year 968.M32, Thoranos Elijah declared rebellion against the Imperium. From the depths of the underhive of Invernus' capital world, a veritable army emerged, trained and equipped by veteran gangers and retired, disillusioned members of the Astra Militarum who had been ensnared by Thoranos' vision. The fervent prayers of thousands of cultists and the ritual sacrifices of the agents of oppression – Arbites, spire-born and captured Acolytes of the Inquisition – opened portals to the Eye of Terror through which arrived Thoranos' hidden sponsors, the Word Bearers of the Starless Eye. Along with them came bound daemonhosts and mutant cultists.

The Word Bearers had been briefed by their Dark Apostles as to Thoranos' and his followers' beliefs, and were mindful not to betray what they really thought of the mortals through their actions. In truth – and to the Dark Apostles' silent disquiet – many of the sons of Lorgar were impressed by the intensity of Thoranos' belief. The newly-proclaimed Prophet of Truth embraced them as angels who had been cast down by a cruel master for questioning His commands, now returned to help bring others to the truth they had discovered. It was a narrative that played upon the Word Bearers' sense of importance as the heralds of the Primordial Truth. They embraced Thoranos and his cultists as brothers and sisters, and shared with them the secrets of Chaos.

Within a few months, the Invernus Sector had fallen. Merchant ships and Imperial Navy groups were suborned by Chaos Marine strike teams, and the structures of Imperial power collapsed as the enslaved masses rose against their oppressors on a hundred worlds. Under the spiritual guidance of the Prophet of Truth, the Children of Elijah, as the rebellion called itself, cast off the chains of the Imperium. Those who resisted were offered as sacrifices to the Warp, their energies serving to feed what the Children believed to be the starved spirits of the dead who had been punished in the afterlife by the tyrannical Emperor. Through use of necromancy, the Word Bearers helped perpetrate that lie by helping some of the rebellion's fallen heroes to "return to life". The Ruinous Powers drank deep of this Sector-wide delusion, and of the bloodshed and wide-spread destruction.

Inevitably, the Imperium responded to the Invernus uprising. A vast Crusade force was assembled, and a great war began as the Children of Elijah fought tooth and nail to protect the freedom they had conquered with their blood and effort. Cities burned and worlds were destroyed, and the violence unleashed by the Imperium only served to propel the Children ever deeper into the embrace of the Ruinous Powers, with Thoranos Elijah himself becoming more and more convinced of the rightfulness of his actions as the casualty reports mounted.

"_Now the masks have fallen, and the true face of the Imperium is revealed for all to see. Know this, my brothers and sisters : even should we fall in battle against the armies of tyranny, our lives are not spent in vain. It is better to die free than to live as slaves, just as it is better to dedicate one's life to assisting others than it is to spend it selfishly. That is the difference between us and _them._"  
_Thoranos Elijah to his followers, 972.M32

In the end, the Crusade culminated in a final confrontation between Thoranos himself and the Blood Angels contingent that accompanied the Imperial forces. On Invernus Prime, the Prophet of Truth faced the sons of Sanguinius, wielding all of his accrued sorcerous power with devastating efficacy. The warriors of the Starless Sky fought at his side, seeking to atone for the death of their Dark Apostles at the Blood Angels' blades by martyring themselves alongside Thoranos. The Space Marines had thought the Dark Apostles to be the true architects of the rebellion, but to their surprise, the Children of Elijah had remained steadfast even after their elimination in a suicidal strike by a Black Company kill-team.

As the skies of Invernus Prime filled with Warp energy and more and more of the Children swore their souls to daemons in exchange for the power to protect their land and comrades, Thoranos saw that defeat was inevitable. Though most of their first attack on the planet's surface had been repelled, the Imperium would keep coming, would keep sending more and more forces until the Children were crushed. For to admit defeat was the one thing that the tyrant Emperor and His lackeys could not allow, lest others also rise against His cruel rule.

Drawing upon all of his power, Thoranos called upon the Ruinous Powers. In his twisted theology, the Dark Gods were the accumulated psychic mass of all the souls that had been consigned to Hell by the Emperor, their essences pooling together after their individual features and memories had been scoured away by the torments of the Eye of Terror. Though it broke his heart to consign his followers to such a fate, with the help of the Dark Gods, he rent apart reality and dragged the world of Invernus Prime itself into the Warp.

Cut off from their allies in orbit and surrounded by the madness of Chaos, the remaining Imperials were quickly slaughtered, and the world was delivered by the tides of the Warp to the Eye of Terror. For a time, its skies were dark, lit only by the baleful radiance of the Eye's Warp Storms. Then, as the Children began to despair, a new star began to burn in the heavens. Though few knew it at the time, that star was actually the captured Greater Daemon Ixxlesith, a fiery servant of Tzeentch that had been defeated by the Starless Sky long ago and was now put to use as Invernus Prime's new sun. Free from the threat of Imperial retribution, but now trapped inside the very Hell they had sought to deliver their damned brethren from, the Children began to rebuild. The war-torn ruins of Invernus Prime – which was soon renamed to simply Invernus, as word came in that the Sector of the same name had been renamed in the wake of the uprising's defeat – provided plenty of material.

Thoranos himself had been transfigured by the journey to the Eye of Terror. The last of his humanity, which had been slowly chipped off for decades, had been stripped away entirely. He had ascended to daemonhood, becoming an immortal prince of Chaos Undivided – yet he still held onto the belief system he had constructed during his mortal years. Though he now held the power to leave Invernus behind, he chose to remain on the new daemon world, to continue to guide the Children as he had before. Under his leadership and after a few meetings with envoys of the Seventeenth Legion, Invernus became a protectorate of the Word Bearers.

In a cruel twist of fate typical of Chaos, Thoranos' own beliefs as to the nature of the Eye of Terror ended up working against his goals. The Prophet of Truth's image of the Eye as a place of entropy and misery imprinted itself on the daemon world, making every endeavour of the Children more difficult. Yet they held onto their beliefs, helping each other and dreaming of the day they would return to the Materium to bring down the Imperium's tyranny and free all of Humanity.

As for what the Dark Council thought of it all ? It is said that, when news of Invernus Prime's fate reached Sicarius, Erebus and Kor Phaeron laughed together for the first time in living memory.

* * *

AN : Well, so far I am managing to hold onto my self-imposed challenge of one new chapter every day. This chapter is inspired by the Theodore Wicker storyline, from the game _Secret World Legends. _That game is probably my favorite MMO I ever played, though that is a matter of taste, of course. The story is engaging and the environments varied - though I do wish some of the quests were less willfully obscure. When the options are either look up a walkthrough or learn an Eastern European language in order to translate a clue, I feel like there has been a mistake somewhere.

For tomorrow, I am going to try to write both a new chapter for _Prince of the Eye_, and an interlude for the Roboutian Heresy. The latter, at least, should be in the Halloween spirit.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter (which was written from a handful of notes in around 2 hours), and I will see you all again soon.

Zahariel out.


	19. The Orphans of Time

_Maeleum Datum : 013.M33_

At the edge of the Horusian dominions, where the influence of the Theft of Time waned, laid a realm of madness such as was rarely seen even in the Eye of Terror. The anarchic energies tamed by the thousand infernal clocks of Maeleum could not simply be contained : they had to be pushed back, forced out of the great work's area of effect so that time could function in a normal, linear manner. Chaos loathed the order imposed by Horus and Ahriman's work, and at the borders of the Warmaster's kingdom, that displeasure was made manifest in what the Sons of Horus called the Sundered Tides.

There, all the madness that had been exorcised from the Horusian territories was manifested a hundredfold. Unending Warp storms of impossible size and violence roared their unthinking hate. Monsters the size of world blinked into existence or slithered through the ruins of physical laws, before being torn asunder by lightning bolts the size of stars and the color of madness. Among the explorers of the Eye, only one region was known to be more hostile than the Sundered Tides : the Radiant Worlds, where the psychic light of the Astronomican met the Eye of Terror, creating a region of golden, scouring flames where shard-angels did eternal war against the daemonic hordes led by Angron. Those worlds that had been caught within the Tides when the Theft of Time had occurred had suffered the worst, as had the accursed souls that had been trapped on their surface.

To the Sons of Horus, the Sundered Tides were a convenient side effect of the Theft of Time. Like some grand, cosmic moat, the Tides surrounded their territory, making access all but impossible. The only way for a ship to pass through the Tides was to cross one of the few channels that were open through them, created by the will of particularly powerful Chaos Lords who had managed to impose their vision upon daemon worlds lost to the Tides. All of these lords paid fealty to the Warmaster in one way or another, for Horus would not countenance any other being able to grant passage into his realm. Those who did not soon received envoys from Horus, who offered a choice between submission and destruction. Whether arch-hereteks of the Dark Mechanicum, Daemon Lords risen above their kin by the whim of the Great Game, mortal warlords marked by the Ruinous Powers or Chaos Marines, all had either bent the knee or perished.

But not all denizens of the Sundered Tides dwelled within these small pockets of sustained reality. Despite everything, life still clung to the daemon worlds lost to the Tides, broken and paradoxical as it might be. And where the sane man would have seen only death and ruin, some of the Eye's mad lords saw opportunity. In the grand cathedrals of Sicarius, the sons of Lorgar looked at the Sundered Tides, and saw what they imagined the wrath of the Gods to look like. To the Dark Council and its Apostles, the Theft of Time had been nothing short of a blasphemy : an attempt by mortal minds, however exalted, to impose _their _will upon the rightful kingdom of the Gods.

And so it was that a Host of Word Bearers was secretly dispatched to the Sundered Tides, to find out how to harvest their great power for the glory of the Pantheon. Though its Primarch was in self-imposed exile within his _Templum Inficio_, the Seventeenth Legion had not forgotten the humiliation dealt to them by Horus at the end of the Legion Wars. Moriana was beyond their reach – not only had Lorgar given his word, but the woman had vanished hundreds of years ago – but there were many Word Bearers who hungered for revenge on Horus and his allies. This, combined with their fanatical devotion to Chaos, made the Host willing to plunge into the Sundered Tides.

Even with all the ritual precautions, the chants and ceremonies on every ship, the chaining of thousands of willing sacrifices to the hulls of the vessels and the blessings of eight Dark Apostles in the light of Sicarius' own infernal star, the fleet of the Host took horrendous casualties. Within moments of entering the Tides, a full third of the Host was destroyed, the souls of the sons of Lorgar torn from their flesh just like those of the mortals they had surrounded themselves with.

After an undetermined period of time, the remaining ships of the Host located a world within the Sundered Tides. With their hulls battered and every soul aboard them tormented by the endless screaming of the Warp, the captains set course toward that world. Such was the violence of the astral currents that only a single warship managed to avoid crashing into the planet. That warship, the _Dominus Dei, _was also the one carrying the Host's Dark Apostle, a Colchisian named Nergal Velk. Accompanied by his Corypheus and the few hundred warriors also aboard, the Dark Apostle descended upon the ravaged daemon world, to try and make contact with the Word Bearers who had been aboard the crashed ships.

Immediately after making planetfall, the Host came under attack. Nameless, formless creatures hurled themselves at the Word Bearers, and all the abjurations of the Dark Apostle could do nothing to repulse them. These were clearly creatures of the Warp, but of a kind never before encountered by the Seventeenth Legion, nor recorded in any of the sacred texts Nergal could remember. They were Neverborn native to the Sundered Tides, born of the fracturing of time caused by Horus' arrogance. Still, they were similar enough to other daemons for the Word Bearers' weaponry to affect them, and after initial losses taken while trying to bind their attackers, the Host was able to make progress across the daemon world's surface.

One by one, Nergal and his troops reached each of the crashed warships. Those warriors who had survived were added to the ranks of the Host, while those too wounded to follow were ritually sacrificed to the Gods, and the gene-seed of the dead harvested by the Legion's Apothecaries. When the Dark Apostle approached the final crashed warship, it was with a thousand Legionaries at his back and the meaningless, ceaseless whispers of the Neverborn in his ears.

As the Host approached the crashed vessel, the distance separating them from their destination was suddenly filled with cracks running through the air itself. The image of the ship shattered into an infinity of pieces, and from the howling void left in its wake came a new horde of daemons. These Neverborn, however, were not incarnated, but fleshless spirits that flowed over the Word Bearers like a great tide. The seals and protections of the warriors' armors could not keep out these strange hellspawns, and every son of Lorgar, from the Dark Apostle himself to the youngest initiate, was forced to his knees as a dozen or more infernal spirits battled for control of his flesh.

After what seemed like an eternity of suffering, Nergal was the first to rise back to his feet. The Dark Apostle had imposed his will upon the Neverborn that now swam through his blood and soul, though his body and armor had been hideously merged with one another in the process. His crozius in hand, he went to his brothers, and one by one, he helped them overcome this trial, putting those too weak to reclaim control of their bodies out of their miseries.

The Word Bearers who rose from this had all become Secondborn, in the largest simultaneous creation of such Possessed warriors ever recorded, surpassing even the foundation of the legendary Gal Vorbak in the decades before the Horus Heresy was openly declared. Sharing their flesh with the unique daemons of the Sundered Tides, these warriors were blessed with an innate understanding of the region's unique nature. Under Nergal's command, the Host returned aboard the _Dominus Dei. _The bridge crew of the ship was replaced by Secondborn volunteers, who were bound to their stations by Dark Tech cybernetics in order for the ship's machine-spirit to be able to navigate the Sundered Tides by using that understanding.

On Maleum Datum 013.M33, the warship _Dominus Dei _emerged from the Sundered Tides and into Horusian territory, bypassing the known channels for traversing the Tides entirely. The dark forge-world of Ingreus, whose arch-heretek had given his loyalty to Horus at the end of the Legion Wars, was caught utterly by surprise as its skies were filled with drop-pods and gunships launched from the Word Bearers' battle-barge. Nearly a thousand Secondborn warriors were unleashed upon the planet, ravaging its industry and plundering its resources while Nergal himself hunted down the arch-heretek and offered him up as sacrifice to the Ruinous Powers.

The skitarii and daemon engines of the Dark Mechanicum observed that these warriors displayed strange abilities, never before seen even among other Possessed forces. Each seemingly operated within his own separate time-stream, able to reverse any injury inflicted upon him that did not result into immediate death. Furthermore, they could move through time as well as space, striking from within enemy strongholds by returning to the past _after _their gates and walls had been breached. The dark magi, unable to process the paradoxical strategies of the foe, were slaughtered by the thousands, while their tech-thralls and servitors were butchered all across the planet.

"_We are the wrath of the Gods made manifest, unleashed upon all those who serve the weakling Warmaster. We are the fury of the Sundered Tides, the children of Chaos. Let the will of the Pantheon be done !"  
_From the Dark Apostle Nergal Velk, during the sacking of Ingreus

By the time the Sons of Horus responded to Ingreus' cry for help, the _Dominus Dei _had long since left the system, plunging back into the Sundered Tides with its holds full of plunder and accompanied by several captured Dark Mechanicum ships, each now captained and guided by a Secondborn warrior. From that point on, the daemon worlds on the edge of Horusian territory were subjected to raids from within the Sundered Tides, the defense it had provided thus far proven ineffective against this new and strange force of the Word Bearers.

Not long after that first attack, word of these raids upon Horusian territories reached the Dark Council of Sicarius. Its members were puzzled, for none of them remembered having sent a Host to the Sundered Tides, and their heraldry wasn't recorded in any of the Legion's vast archives. After several weeks of investigation and messages sent to all Hosts of the Legion, it was determined that none of the Hosts had decided to go there on their own either – yet the raids were still happening, led by warriors who bore the colors of the Seventeenth Legion.

So it was that Nergal and his warriors became known as the Orphans of Time, a thorn in the side of the Warmaster that would not be dislodged.

* * *

AN : Still working on the next chapter of Warband of the Forsaken Sons. Currently at 13k words, it should be around 15-16k by the time it's done.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. There is still much more to come in the Prince of the Eye story.

Also, I am currently sick with what feels like a hand tightening around my heart whenever my heart rate goes up, so writing action scenes is a bit of challenge. (To clarify, I am not going to die from it - hopefully - but it is painful and distracting.) Curse you, Nurgle ! Is this about the Iron Hands in the Roboutian Heresy ? I told you, even though they haven't gotten much love in the Times of Ending and don't have much written about them in my notes either, it doesn't mean I have forgotten about them ! It's just that there is a _lot _of factions in the Warhammer 40000 universe ! They will get their time in the spotlight, I promise !

Blood of the Emperor, that one can be such a diva. His Death Guard already got the spotlight in the canon universe, but it's never enough, isn't it ?

Zahariel out.


	20. The Battle of the Forge

_Maeleum Datum : 142.M33_

"_It is known to the numberless hosts of the Lost and the Damned that the Realms of Chaos are the domain of the Dark Gods. It is known to them that the Four, the Primordial Pantheon, hold sway over the Warp, their dominion challenged only by the false-light of the Corpse-Emperor's Beacon of Pain, a blasphemy that must be avenged. It is known that the Chaos Gods make war upon each other within the Realms as well as the Materium, and that all things are part of that conflict, which is called the Great Game by those who believe themselves champions of Ruin. It is known that Khorne, Tzeentch, Nurgle and Slaanesh divide the Realms between themselves, and that only the psychic equivalents of wastelands and ruins are left to those daemons too weak or strange to fall under the dominion of one of the great Powers.  
__Like so many things the ignorant believe, all of this is false."  
_From the personal writings of the Chaos Sorcerer Ctesias, member of Ahriman's Cabal

Deep within the Formless Wastes, there was something that, if regarded from the correct angle, might be called a city. In a realm of endlessly changing nightmares, it was a fixed point, an anchor of horror and infernal order. Within its walls, the sounds of hellish construction never stopped, producing palls of black smoke that covered everything. Billions of souls were held within vast furnaces, their agony fuelling the fires of industry. Outside, immense armies made war upon ashen plains, slaughtering one another for the chance to reach the gates and plead their case to the dread lords of that place of terror, madness, and dark wonders.

It was the Forge of Souls, the reflection of every workshop where a weapon of war and murder had ever been made. For countless aeons, the Forge had stood, beyond the greedy reach of even the Dark Gods themselves, and its denizens had crafted countless daemonic weapons and war engines that had been used to make the galaxy bleed. From daemonblades to mighty Chaos Titans, the Forge of Souls was the source of a nigh-infinite number of horrors unleashed upon the stars. Legends claimed that the Forge had come into being when the first Old One, that ancient race that had ruled the galaxy before the Eldars had even risen from the primordial muck, had reached into the Empyrean to use its energies in order to craft the first psychic weapon. Other tales linked the genesis of the Forge of Souls to the first motions of the Great Game, when a cadre of potent daemons rebelled against their masters and sought to create their own kingdom.

Since time beyond memory, the enigmatic Masters of the Forge, entities of great power and cunning, had ruled over the Forge of Souls, brokering deals with the daemons who reached their gates and the mortal engineers who sought to create daemon engines in the Materium. During all that time, the Forge of Souls had remained free of any of the Dark Gods' attempted invasions through the power of the Iron Pact. Alone in the Empyrean, the Masters knew the secret of the Soul Grinders' creation, these vast, terrible engines of war through which a particular daemon might return to the Materium before its period of banishment had expired. With that knowledge, they forced any daemon who sought to become part of a Soul Grinder to swear three binding Oaths.

The first two of these Oaths offered all souls reapt by the daemon and all metal from the engines they destroyed belonged to the Forge, dragged there by the tides of the Warp. The third and final Oath compelled the Soul Grinders to come to the Forge's defense, discarding all previous allegiances, should any of the Ruinous Powers attempt to claim sole dominion over the Forge through conquest. Between the might of the Forge and the vast number of Soul Grinders, the Masters had been able to protect their independence, and the would-be conquests of Daemon Lords had become little more than opportunity for them to test their more destructive inventions.

To the Masters, the tides of the Great Game of Chaos were little more than distractions. But even they had noticed when, in an unprecedented show of unity, the Four had appointed one champion, elevating him above all of their mortal pawns and plenty of their immortal servants. The Heresy had given the Forge plenty of opportunities, as hereteks of the Dark Mechanicum learned the secrets of daemonic binding and the construction of daemon engines, and Techmarines became Warpsmiths. A vast bounty of souls and metal had flowed into the Forge of Souls as world after world burned, and the Masters had seemed pleased to their terrified minions.

So it was that, when Horus Lupercal, Warmaster of Chaos and Prince of the Eye, came to the ashen plains and made his way toward the gates of the Forge of Souls, the Masters took note.

The Primarch had come alone, with his Talon on one hand and _Worldbreaker _in the other, and the warring armies parted before him. Even the most blood-crazed Khornate Neverborn could feel the dark power radiating from Horus, and feared him. Unopposed, he came to the gates of the Forge of Souls, which for the first time in infernal memory opened as soon as he reached them, instead of making him wait upon the Masters' pleasure as had all other supplicants before him.

As the gates of the Forge of Souls, wrought out of black metal and embedded with sanity-blasting images, closed behind the Warmaster, the daemonic legions looked upon one another, the truce that had fallen upon the plains with Horus' arrival growing more and more tense. But instead of falling upon each other again, they turned toward the Forge's gates, and waited, driven by impulses they could not understand. For the first time since its foundation, the ashen plains around the Forge of Souls were silent, while inside, Horus Lupercal met with the Masters.

"_Honored Masters of the Forge, I have come to offer you a simple choice. For too long you have remained here, hiding behind your walls, reaping the profits of a war you refuse to take directly part in. This will change. You may become pacted to me, and swear your allegiance to my cause – the destruction of the Imperium the one you call Anathema deceived me and my brothers into building for Him with our blood and sacrifice. I will grant you places of honor and power within my kingdom, and let you keep control of this Forge as you have before.  
__If you refuse, I shall cast down your walls, cast you out of your domain, and claim the Forge of Souls, that it might serve the Long War. The choice is yours."  
_Horus Lupercal to the Masters of the Forge

When the Masters predictably rejected Horus' offer, the Warmaster brought _Worldbreaker _down, the impact of the weapon a signal that activated his real plan. At the edges of the ashen plains, where the small bubble of stability surrounding the Forge met the Formless Wastes, portals opened leading to select locations in the Eye of Terror with strong sympathetic connections to that eternal battlefield. Four such portals opened, one at each cardinal point, with the chamber where Horus stood before the Masters at the center.

Through potent sorceries and by using the vast power contained within Horus' mortal body as a guide through the tides of the Warp, the Cabalites had created paths through which the armies of the Warmaster may reach deep within the Warp itself, and make war upon daemons in the Immaterium itself. Every warrior participating in this attack had had his armor covered in ritual sigils designed by Ahriman himself to protect their flesh and soul from the corrosive effects of the Warp – for even though the Forge of Souls was one of the Realms of Chaos' most stable areas, it was still utterly hostile to mortal life. Cabalite Sorcerers accompanied each of the four hosts that passed through the portals, and immediately set upon the task of binding the stunned daemonic legions to their will.

From the northern portal came the Justaerin, clad in Terminator armor, led by Abaddon himself. A hundred of the Sons of Horus' greatest warriors, and he who was considered by many to be Horus' truest son. During the days of the Legion Wars, many of the Justaerin had willingly given themselves to Neverborn, becoming Possessed in order to fight better for their Primarch. Now, within the Realms of Chaos, their infernal companions helped them adapt to their unholy surroundings more quickly than any of the other forces. Abaddon himself, though he was not Secondborn, nonetheless was the first to recover from the transition from the mustering field to the ashen plains. With his trusted brother and fellow Mournival member Falkus Kibre at his side, the First Captain of the Sixteenth Legion led the charge toward the walls of the Forge of Souls.

From the eastern portal came the Fallen, led by Vortigern, first among the Lion's renegade sons within Horus' armies. Armed with sorcerous blades and secret knowledge gleaned from the archives of Caliban's Order before the planet's destruction, they burned a path through the wastes. The substance of the Warp reacted to their presence immediately, and shadowy figures with wings of black appeared above them, silently observing as Vortigern and his brothers advanced. Nearly every Fallen had one such figure hovering above him, and though they could see them as well as anyone else, they did not react to their presence in any way. The Cabalites accompanying the Fallen paused at the sight of these watchers, until Ahriman, who had chosen for reasons of his own to accompany the Dark Angels renegades into this assault, commanded them to focus their attention on the infernal hordes that laid between them and their target.

From the western gateway came a contingent of Night Lords, belonging to that faction of the Eighth Legion which had embraced the powers of Chaos and turned its back on the Long War. Despite this seeming lack of dedication to his greater goals, Horus had called for their participation in this endeavour, offering both a sizeable tribute and tangling the opportunity for glory and plunder before their eyes. A flock of Raptors and Warp Talons flew from the gate, led by the recently ascended Daemon Prince Krieg Acerbus, once a member of the Kyroptera. Like few mortals before him, Acerbus had ascended to daemonhood not through the patronage of any of the Four, but by his sheer depravity and pursuit of fear and atrocity, elevating himself to such heights of horror that he had earned the approval of each of the Dark Gods in turn.

"_Take him. If he doesn't come back, then all the better."  
_Zso Sahaal, to Horus Lupercal regarding Acerbus Krieg, before the Battle of the Forges

Finally, the southern portal let through a host of mechanized horrors that had never seen the inside of the Forge of Souls, driven into battle by Iron Warriors overseers and Warpsmiths. For centuries, the Iron Warriors had sought to master the creation of daemon engines, and the bitter sons of Perturabo had refused to depend upon any other power. It had taken them hundreds of years of often disastrous failures, but eventually, through trial and error and sheer stubbornness, they had succeeded, and now their creations were let loose upon the Forge of Souls. As the daemon engines charged, the Warpsmiths looked upon the wreckage covering the ashen plains, seeing the ruins of aeons of war, and their hearts were filled with hunger for the secrets that laid buried there. Yet they remained focused on the goal ahead, for they had been appointed their task by Perturabo himself.

Facing Horus and his armies, the Masters laughed, confident that they would crush this attempted takeover as they had all previous ones. They activated the Iron Pact, calling upon the Soul Grinders to join the defense of the Forge of Souls. Swiftly, however, their assurance turned to shock and horror, as the Soul Grinders did not answer their summons.

It was only then that the Masters realized their mistake. The Iron Pact only compelled the Soul Grinders to come should _one of the Ruinous Powers _attempt to claim sole control of the Forge of Souls. Horus Lupercal was not a servant of any of the Four, and this attack had for goal to seize the Forge for his own ends rather than those of the Dark Gods. By the wording of the Pact, the Soul Grinders could not be summoned, and even if the mighty daemon engines had been willing to abandon their current campaigns to come to the Forge's aid, they could not be brought across the Immaterium without the power of the Iron Pact backing their summoning.

Worse, the infernal legions fighting for access to the Forge of Souls had always taken part in its defense as well, turning upon the invading armies of rival Powers, both to deny them the Forge and to earn the Masters' favor. But now, the Cabalites were instead binding these armies into their service, using words of power granted unto them by Horus himself prior to the attack. The forces Horus had brought across, while mighty, would never have been enough to conquer the immensity of the Forge of Souls. But the four warbands were but the spear point of a daemonic horde beyond any that the Materium had ever seen, save perhaps in the darkest days of the Fall and the Heresy.

Enraged as they realized the scope of Horus' scheme, the Masters turned upon the Warmaster in their midst. Fury outweighing caution, they threw their power against that of the Prince of the Eye, unleashing sorceries they had not employed since long before Slaanesh had been but a glimpse of possibility in the Eldar race's fate. But for all their might and all their lore, the Masters were no match for Horus, who had been the Emperor's finest creation before the Dark Gods had filled him with their power. Even so, the Masters were able to escape, leaving three of their number dead at Horus' hand. Surprisingly, the Warmaster did not give pursuit.

_Blood dripped on the floor of the ruined chamber. At the feet of Horus laid the bodies of the Masters of the Forge he had slain._

_The Warmaster reached out with _Worldbreaker_ and turned one of them on its back, revealing the face that had been kept hidden in shadows and cowls for longer than the human race had existed._

_Despite the blazing pain at his side, where his wound had once more torn open, Horus raised an eyebrow as he saw the true face of the dead Master._

As the Masters fled from their chamber of power, the four warbands and the bound daemonic legions reached the walls of the Forge of Souls. The slaughter was terrible, as the defenders of the Forge, bound to their stations by oaths far more comprehensive than the Iron Pact, unleashed all manner of infernal weaponry upon their foe. But eventually, after what seemed (and might very well have been, for with the Masters' departure the fragile laws of the Forge were eroding quickly) an eternity of fighting, the walls fell and the Forge of Souls was conquered.

Horus' lieutenants met the Warmaster in the ruins of what had been the Forge's heart, where he had met and fought the Masters. He congratulated them on a task well done, but their mission here wasn't finished yet. Without the Masters, the Forge of Souls would not last long : as it existed outside the control of any of the Chaos Gods, it required the constant presence of a powerful being to enforce its existence against the tides of the Formless Wastes. Fortunately, Horus had planned for this possibility, knowing there was very little chance that the proud Masters would kneel to him.

Since the end of the Legion Wars and the alliance between Horus and Perturabo, the sons of the Lord of Iron had been hard at work. In heart of the Fourth Legion's territories, on the other side of Medrengard's black sun, they had constructed eight pillars imbued with sorcerous properties. Each pillars was thousands of kilometers long, forged of metal and bone inscribed with billions of runes. It had taken a thousand years and untold millions of slaves to construct these pillars, and the arcane calculations that had been required before their construction could even begin had taken the entire processing power of a Dark Mechanicum forge-world for several years. But it had been done.

Using his authority and power as both Warmaster of Chaos and conqueror of the Forge of Souls, Horus dragged the entire Forge through the Aether and into the Eye of Terror, anchoring it into place in Medrengard with the eight Pillars of Torment. Like a colossal space station, the Forge hung in the Warp-tainted void of Eyespace, kept from falling apart by the Pillars' great sorcery. From Medrengard came Iron Warriors ships, bearing new overseers for the Forge's industry as well as Perturabo himself, come to accept his brother's gift. In this way did Horus consolidate the loyalty of the Fourth Legion to him, as well as renew the dread and awe of the Eye-born realms for him.

Under the management of the Iron Warriors, the Forge of Souls' productivity surpassed that of any Dark Mechanicum forge-world. Convoys of weapons, daemon engines and ammunition left the Iron Warriors territories under heavy escort, delivering supplies to the allies of the Warmaster within the Eye of Terror. Yet most of the Forge's output was dedicated to Perturabo's special projects : the creation of an arsenal of superweapons, to be unleashed at the end of the Long War, when the Traitor Legions at long last broke free of the Eye of Terror to crush the last remnants of an Imperium collapsed on itself. Such were the terms of the pact by which Horus had given the Forge to Perturabo, a compact that, unlike the failed Iron Pact, would not be so easily tricked.

* * *

AN : This chapter was heavily inspired by the browser game _Fallen London_, which was recommended to me by a friend a few months ago and which I have been playing ever since. The Masters of that game reminded me of the Masters of the Forge, and I couldn't stop myself from writing this chapter. Is the Forge of Souls too powerful a resource for Horus to have access to ? I don't think so. The Imperium has many, _many _more forge-worlds than the Eye, and _their _output is reliable to work when subjected to the laws of physics outside the star system where it was assembled.

I have a follow-up chapter to this one planned and started already. I had planned to have it be part of this one, but writing down the actual Battle of the Forge ended up much longer than anticipated, and I think I can develop what would otherwise be a mere footnote into an interesting tidbit of worldbuilding. That chapter will answer the question : "what happened to the surviving Masters of the Forge ?" There is too much potential for storytelling here to let it go to waste, I think.

Slowly, without me doing much work, the future storyline of _Prince of the Eye _is starting to emerge ... It's actually quite enjoyable to feel that happen as a writer.

Concerning the Masters, I have had an idea. In this chapter, Horus learned what the Masters look like, and (one can assume) realized what they actually are. However, while I have some ideas, I haven't yet come to a definite answer for what the Masters are in this timeline.

If you leave me your suggestions as to the true nature and appearance of the fallen Masters of the Forge, I will choose which one (or combination of several) proposal seems the most interesting to me.

That's all for now. I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. The utter anarchy and madness of the Eye of Terror makes it easy to come up with over-the-top, unbelievable, mythological-scaled stories, and I am really enjoying writing this story so far !

Zahariel out.


	21. The City of Aftermath

_Maeleum Datum : 175.M33_

In the years that followed the Battle of the Forge, the Masters who had survived the confrontation with Horus re-emerged from obscurity. They had fled the collapse of their kingdom before Horus had dragged it into the Eye of Terror, but such had been the strength of their ties to the Forge of Souls that they had been caught in the wake of the Warmaster's spell.

One by one the Masters fell, pulled from the Empyrean's depths into the Eye, and were scattered within its ever-shifting borders. On daemon worlds and in the savage wilderness of Eyespace, they descended like burning comets, and the agony they felt must have been terrible indeed.

Trapped in the half-reality of the Eye and cut off from the Forge of Souls, the Masters were much diminished. But they remained potent in a manner usually reserved for Daemon Princes, as those unfortunates who encountered them first soon learned to their cost. Tribes of mutants and wandering warbands were slaughtered as the Masters rose from their fall, full of rage at the Warmaster's victory and conquest of the Forge. The terrified survivors of these groups fell to their knees in awed worship, offering their devotion to the Masters in the hope of surviving.

After cooling their fury in bloodshed, the Masters each individually swore that they would have their revenge upon the upstart Primarch. Though they were separated, they knew that their kin had all been dragged into the Eye. Those who had been found by groups with space-faring capabilities claimed ships of their own, while the Masters stranded on primitive daemon worlds used their knowledge to direct their new slaves into the construction of vessels that were as much driven by sorcery as they were by technology, or employed more esoteric means of journeying the Eye.

Despite their overwhelming desire for revenge, the Masters were not blind to the scope of their self-appointed purpose. Horus was the mightiest warlord of the Eye of Terror, and had already proven himself more than the Masters' equal in direct combat. The Masters needed a new place of power, a domain safe from the depredations of the Legions, where they could rebuild their strength and search for ways to claim their revenge and retake what was theirs. There were many such places in the Eye, but most were already under the control of one of the Traitor Legions, or another of the powers that the Masters had no desire to provoke so soon after their arrival. Instead, they set their sight upon a place that held much unrealized potential, still under the radar of the Eye's greater powers. Though only a handful made contact with one another, aeons of working as one within the Forge of Souls had made the Masters similar enough that they all eventually chose the same target.

So it was that, one by one, the Masters came to Aftermath. Located at one of the ends of the Warp route known as the Cerulean Concourse, Aftermath was an amalgamation of hundreds of cities that had been swallowed by the Warp through disaster or uncontrolled sorcery. Populated by the remnants of these cities' populations and dozens of factions and warbands, Aftermath had been in a state of complete anarchy for its entire existence. This changed with the arrival of the Masters.

Through a combination of violence and what, in the Eye of Terror, may be called diplomacy, the Masters quickly conquered Aftermath and divided it up between the ten of them. They ruled through a network of proxies and agents, many of whom had been lords of their own domain before the arrival of the Masters. The Masters themselves were rarely seen, but their chosen enforcers were dreaded throughout the whole of Aftermath – though not as much as the enforcers themselves feared the Masters.

The Masters each shaped their territory to their own vision, able for the first time in aeons to do as they pleased rather than as their collective council decided. Some of the Masters sought to rebuild the Forge of Souls' industry, building immense factories where millions toiled endlessly. The ruins of the ancient cities were broken down for material by immense collection engines and gangs of harvesting slaves, and weapons and engines of war were crafted from their remains – though the output of all of Aftermath put together was but a fraction of the Forge of Souls'.

Others constructed immense laboratories and universities where the darkest secrets of Chaos were explored by those insane enough to brave them, with the goal of learning a way to defeat Horus. Great libraries were built to house the forbidden lore by which many of the stolen cities had been damned, and scholars came from across the Eye to translate alien knowledge for the Masters. In the University Unspoken, students and teachers alike had their lips sewn shut, while in the Conglomerate College, the brains of those who proved most valuable were added to the grotesque, hyper-intelligent mass held beneath the building. Within the chambers of the Choir of Unveiling, hereteks of all stripes worked to construct new and terrifying devices and warmachines from machine, daemon and flesh – as well as other, less recognizable materials.

In the ruins of a city that the Masters said had belonged to a species called "Necrontyrs", a great market was assembled, where the plunder of the stolen cities was displayed alongside the finds of a thousand explorers throughout the Eye of Terror. All manners of currencies and trade were accepted there, with the Master overseeing this Bazaar taking its cut out of every transaction, this taxation ruthlessly enforced by agents armed well enough to deal with the Eye's denizens.

At the edge of Aftermath, vast shipyards were built where ships of designs never before seen were assembled and put to use in the defense of Aftermath from all who would challenge the Masters' rule, with a few surplus ones of lesser quality being sold to the highest bidder. Though the prices demanded by the Master in charge of the shipyards were exorbitant, there were always buyers, for in the Eye of Terror, only a world has more value than the freedom offered by a spaceship.

The denizens of Aftermath lived in fear and awe of the Masters. Attempts were made to learn more about them, and though those who got to close to the Masters' secrets soon vanished or were made examples of, some details began to filter down into public knowledge – though whether those were true or lies planted by the Masters remained unknown. Under their cloaks, it was said that the Masters were made of flesh, and that flesh was covered in cold, scaled skin. They possessed psychic powers as well as sorcerous lore, and their psychic might was far greater than that of any mortal psyker. They could see through the eyes of their agents, and speak through them – but doing so invariably burned the body of the unfortunate vessel to ash. They each hid a wound beneath their cloaks, inflicted upon them by Horus Lupercal in the battle of the Forge of Souls.

Names were also given to the Masters, attributed to them by the masses rather than claimed by the Masters themselves. Eventually, though, the necessities of ruling Aftermath required that there be a way to refer to a specific Master, something that hadn't been needed in the Forge of Souls, where they had all ruled as one. Those names were more akin to titles than names, loosely translated from the language of daemons into the low Gothic dialects that were mostly used by the population of Aftermath. They were based upon a Master's area of influence : the Master controlling the halls of knowledge was known as Master Head, while the one controlling the shipyards was Master Harbor, the one in charge of the factories Master Task, and so on. These names were only used when speaking of the Masters in their absence. What, if anything, the Masters' agents called them when making their reports and taking their orders was something known to them alone.

Under the rule of the Masters, Aftermath, which before had been a curiosity and a backwater, became a rising power in the Eye, unaligned in the Great Game of Chaos. The Traitor Legions quickly took notice, and emissaries were sent to Aftermath by the Word Bearers, the Thousand Sons and the Emperor's Children, offering the Masters to join them as a protectorate. The Masters refused all such offers, and decreed that no Chaos Marine was allowed to set foot upon Aftermath, lest they face their wrath. Forced to follow the Masters' rules or risk losing access to Aftermath's bounty, the Traitor Legions worked through mortal intermediaries and agents, sending them to negotiate deals on their behalf while they remained aboard their ships, outside the range of Aftermath's impressive defenses.

Apart from the Traitor Legionaries, held at bay to preserve the independence of Aftermath under the Masters' rule, Aftermath welcomed all others, from mortal heretics to mutants to daemons and xenos. The only exception were the Eldars in all their forms, be it Exodite, Craftworlder or denizen of Commoragh. The Masters despised the Children of Isha, for reasons they never deigned to explain, and any such beings discovered in Aftermath were immediately hunted down by their agents and slain on the spot, without trial or interrogation.

Aftermath was already the size of a world when the Masters arrived, and it continued to grow after that. New cities continued to arrive, spat out of the storms that surrounded it and cast their baleful illumination upon it in lieu of a sun. These cities drifted through the void, immediately set upon by plunderers in the employ of the Masters, until they crashed into Aftermath and were added to its mass. By the strange laws of the Eye, the atmosphere of these lost cities remained breathable instead of being vented into the void, though asphyxiation would often have been a kinder fate than what awaited the new arrivals.

In the Maeleum Datum 175.M33, several years after the Masters' capture of Aftermath, the Warmaster dispatched his own envoys to the amalgam world. Horus had long since learned of the Masters' return, and knew that diplomacy would not serve him here. Nor was the Warmaster willing to spend the resources required to invade Aftermath : the planet was too far from the territory of him and his allies to make holding it a viable option. Destroying it would not only waste its potential but also scatter the Masters anew, forcing them to find a new place from where to scheme, one Horus may not find. Instead, Horus' goal was to undermine the Masters' rule and to make sure that he had his own stake in the power games of Aftermath.

Once more, the Warmaster's cunning was displayed in the unpredictable way he approached the problem. When the flotilla of the Sixteenth Legion emerged from the storms surrounding Aftermath, the Masters roused the alarm and prepared their defenses, thinking that the Warmaster had come to finish what he had started at the Forge of Souls. But the flotilla hang back, seemingly waiting for something else to happen. Only the crazed scholars of Aftermath's dark universities realized the plan, and then only too late. A few days after the flotilla's arrival, the storms parted once more, revealing not Horusian reinforcements as the Masters' warlords had suspected, but a new city.

Before any of the Masters' plunderers could reach it, the Sons of Horus forces fell upon the latest city stolen by the Sea of Souls. There, they were welcomed as saviours and liberators by the Horusian rebels whose actions had triggered the city's doom. The whole city, hundreds of kilometers long, was turned into a stronghold by the Sons of Horus and their allies, with the terrified human population either driven into submission or exterminated.

The defenses of Aftermath could not destroy a target of that size, and the Sixteenth Legion flotilla protected the drifting city until the last stretch of its slow, inevitable journey. Vast void-shields were activated, covering areas of the city from bombardment by the Masters' own ships. Eventually, it slammed into Aftermath's edges, where the forces of the Masters were ready for the attack.

But no attack came. Instead, a single servitor emerged, broadcasting a message from Horus himself. The Warmaster declared that this newest region of Aftermath belonged to him, an Embassy through which his will would be made known. His Ambassador – the only name by which the Son of Horus sent to oversee the operation and then the interests of the Sixteenth in Aftermath – was his voice and his hand upon Aftermath. In a show of insults disguised as generosity, Horus granted the Masters their control of the rest of Aftermath, so long as they accepted his Embassy and remained neutral in the conflicts of the Eye of Terror.

The servitor was obliterated, and the Masters ordered that the border of the new city be sealed. But even with all of the resources under their command, there was simply too much distance to cover. Agents of the Warmaster slipped out and mingled with the crowds of Aftermath, and the Horusians joined the latest front of the Great Game of Chaos. Armies sent beyond the border disappeared, ambushed by Sons of Horus commandos and the augmented mortal soldiers they had created from the descendants of those who had plunged the city into the Warp. Eventually, the deal Horus had offered became reality in practice, even if the Masters never accepted it.

As Horus had no doubt expected, the Masters' merciless rule caused rebellion and unrest. Just as Horus had done for the Imperium with his Proclamation, the Ambassador presented himself and Horusian rule as an alternative to the Masters' tyranny. The Masters' hold grew more tenuous as uprisings secretly sponsored by the Horusians multiplied, answered to by crushing force. Aftermath became a battlefield where wars were fought in the shadows of the amalgam-world, all sides of the conflict seeking to preserve the value of what they were fighting over.

Other factions beyond the Masters and the Traitor Legions formed in Aftermath. The Ix, a breed of mutants hailing from the Trebedius Sector, had been forced to flee after the Imperium had discovered their inhuman rule over the world of Nebrend. They had brought their capital city, along with the source of their power, the Pit of Fire and Flesh, and proven strong enough to withstand the Masters' initial attempts at subjugating them. A treaty was negotiated allowing the Ix to retain control of their city and their chattel, though the Masters demanded that the Ix' ability to create new members of their kind by plunging mortals into the Pit be heavily restricted in compensation. The Ancients, those mysterious progenitors of the Ix race, agreed to the Masters' demand. Strong beyond mortal measure, the Ix became mercenaries and enforcers for the other factions, prevented by the terms of the treaty to expand their territory beyond their single city. Lineages that had once ruled continents on Nebrend became something akin to crime syndicates, offering protection to those who could afford their rate in wealth, flesh and souls.

The Seraphims, winged agents of Tzeentch, flew from the storms surrounding Aftermath without the need for spacecraft. Twice as tall as mortal men, they took residence within what had once been a spire of an Imperial hive-city, the previous occupants being subjected to unspeakable acts that turned them into mind-broken puppets of the Seraphims. After a few attempts to reclaim the spire ended up in disaster, one of the Masters went there itself. When it emerged several days later, an accord of sorts had been reached : the Seraphims were given the right to the spire and the ability to go through Aftermath unopposed, so long as they did not interfere with the business of the Masters. In the wake of that declaration, the Seraphims began to wander the streets of Aftermath, following the unfathomable errands given onto them by the Changer of Ways. Sometimes, they were accompanied by one of their hollowed servants, to speak in their stead – none living in Aftermath could truthfully claim to have ever heard a Seraphim speak.

The one known as Zerayah, said by some to be the daughter of Fulgrim, came to Aftermath alone, but did not remain so for long. She – if it was indeed a she – became the center of the Slaaneshi cabals in Aftermath, a figure of worship and adoration. Even the Masters recognized that some of Aftermath's population needed recreation, and so they allowed Zerayah to rule over a host of clubs and houses of pleasure, where the denizens of Aftermath could seek a reprieve from their harsh lives. The cults of the Dark Prince were deeply embedded within this network, drawing many to the worship of Slaanesh. Zerayah sat on her throne atop an empire of vice, surviving all attempts made to remove and replace her. The rumors of her parentage began when a daemonhost of Khorne sought to destroy her and, after the resulting battle left an entire district in ruins, she emerged from the devastation not only alive and victorious, but without a single wound.

There were more. The killing guilds of Ezythios, banished from the Imperium for their worship of murder; the revenant cults of the graveyard-world of Hallow's Mark; the refugee clans of the Rak'gol fleeing from some terrible infighting deep within the xenos' territory … All of these and more came to Aftermath, seeking something they believed they could find in the stolen cities and the small empires that had been built upon their corpses. Both the Masters and the Embassy, along with the envoys of the other powers of the Eye, manipulated them to their own ends – and, sometimes, very rarely, they were manipulated in turn.

None of the Dark Gods could claim Aftermath, but it was certain that Tzeentch was the one who derived the most pleasure from its existence.

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AN : You may think that this chapter was inspired by _Fallen London_, and by "inspired", I mean "shamelessly ripped off". But, surprisingly, you would be wrong. The initial idea of Aftermath was inspired from the _Nightside _novels, and I had first planned to write a short story in it. But that was months ago, and I decided instead to cannibalize the idea for _Prince of the Eye_. However, _Fallen London _has since become a huge inspiration for the details of Aftermath.

As you can see, the Ix from _Warband of the Forsaken Sons _have made their way to the Eye of Terror in this continuity. Without the Forsaken Sons to plunge the Trebedius Sector into a permanent Warp Storm, they were forced to flee from the Imperium's wrath, and ended up in Aftermath.

What are the Masters ? Why do they hate the Eldar so much ? Who is the Ambassador ? What lurks at the center of Aftermath, pulling the lost cities to itself ? Let me know your theories. I am not quite sure what I will do with Aftermath going forward - I have this crazy idea for a series of CYOA stories in the style of ... well, _Fallen London_, but I am not sure I can afford the time investment right now. If there is enough interest in the setting of Aftermath, I will consider it.

For now, there is another chapter of _Prince of the Eye _that is almost finished. After that, I am going to focus on another project, one whose nature can be found on the Spacebattles thread for the Roboutian Heresy. I am hoping to get that one ready in time for Christmas.

I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, if you have ideas for this story going forward, don't hesitate to tell me : _Prince of the Eye _is yet free of the shackles that come with me having actually decided an ending, so your suggestions may end up shaping the fate of this entire timeline !

Zahariel out.


	22. The Father of Monsters

_Maeleum Datum : 259M33_

By the time the Legion Wars had ended and the Long War begun, the Traitor Legions had been all but bled dry. The purge of the loyalists within their own ranks, the gruelling campaigns of the Heresy, the slaughters at Beta-Garmon and Terra and a thousand other, unremembered worlds, had left them a pale shadow of their former strength. The Apothecaries of the rebel Legions had been driven to extremities never before contemplated to replenish their decimated ranks, abducting the youths of conquered worlds and brutally transforming them into warriors whose only purpose was to die in the Warmaster's service. Gene-seed had been experimented upon to try and stretch the limits of its growth, resulting in the birth of malformed, insane monsters that could only be used after extensive cybernetic augmentation to make them controllable.

For every success the Apothecaries had found, there had been a dozen gruesome failures. And now, within the Eye of Terror, the Traitor Legions faced extinction once more. Their numbers had been diminished by the Legion Wars, and though those had now guttered down and the Long War had turned into a form where there was less need for Astartes troops, all within the Eye knew that they must find ways to restore their lost numbers. To do otherwise was to risk destruction at the hands of rival Legions, and perhaps even the inability to act when at long last the Imperium collapsed under the weight of its own hypocrisy. The mere thought of having survived so much only to die a slow death over the course of millennia of attrition was unbearable.

The Apothecaries of the Traitor Legions had made pacts with the Dark Mechanicum and constructed facilities where they could turn boys into more Chaos Marines – but there were precious few untainted children within the Eye. With Dorn's defenses surrounding the Eye of Terror and preventing raiding parties from capturing the children needed, the Apothecaries turned to darker means still, seeking to adapt the sacred process of gene-seed implantation even further so that it may take root within young mutants. Catastrophic failure rates, however, soon drove the Apothecaries to desperation, and their masters to wrath. Faced with many punishments, the least of which was death, the Apothecaries spoke of a name, of one who had displayed mastery over the Emperor's gene-craft greater than any save the Master of Mankind.

They spoke of Fabius Bile, Chief Apothecary of the Emperor's Children.

Bile had last been sighted at Skalathrax, where he had abandoned soon after the arrival of Horus and the end of hostilities between the Third and Twelfth Legions. The Chief Apothecary had departed the planet aboard a single warship, the _Pulchritudinous_, and had not been seen since.

Even Horus, when faced with the failure of his Apothecaries, sent his agents to find the Chief Apothecary and bring him to the Warmaster, so that his expertise may be put to the Prince of the Eye's service. Using daemonic trackers, these agents followed the spore of Bile across the Eye. Beginning at Skalathrax, they recreated the journey the Chief Apothecary had taken more than a thousand years ago. The quest was difficult, for the trail had been muddied – whether by the tides of the Eye, the will of the Gods, or the machinations of Bile himself, the hunters could not tell.

For decades, the hunters continued their fruitless hunt. Sometimes, they came upon traces left by Bile's activities : worlds overrun by twisted mutants, or whose population still trembled and fled at the sight of power armor. They found ruins haunted by things that only distantly resembled men, mass graves filled with billions of corpses, and monuments built from the salt of mourning tears. The mark of Bile had been left on these worlds, written in atrocity and genetic coding. It was these discoveries that led to Bile being nicknamed the Father of Monsters among the ranks of those tasked with his capture.

Other times, the hunters dispatched by Horus came into contact with warbands from other Legions, pursuing the same quarry. Bile's expertise was sought by all those with the wherewithal to realize the peril faced by the Traitor Legions in their exile. Most sought to make use of that expertise themselves, but a few wanted to make sure it died with him, consigning the Legions to a slow death that would leave them as the favored champions of the Ruinous Powers.

Such encounters rarely ended well, and fresh corpses and atrocities were left atop those caused by Bile himself. But for all the effort and blood shed, the truth was that the hunters were no closer to finding Bile now as they had been when they had begun their quest. It was then, as the Son of Horus leading them was starting to consider returning to Maeleum and face the punishment for his failure, that the ship of the Alpha Legion came. A single vessel, barely entering the range of the hunters' auspex, transmitted a single message : a set of aetheric coordinates that could be used by a Navigator experienced in the Eye of Terror's tides to find a particular location, and a short sentence : _"There be the father of monsters."_

The allegiance and motives of the Twentieth Legion had always been suspect, and this reeked of a trap. But so desperate were the Sons of Horus that they decided to go to the coordinates anyway. The Navigators and bound daemons that guided the fleet were fed the knowledge that the message had carried, and they followed the path laid down by the sons of the Hydra, abandoning the trail they had followed thus far to no avail. They plunged into the depths of the Eye's eternal storms, and, though the journey was hard and many crew were lost to daemonic manifestations, they eventually reached their destination.

The gate to Bile's kingdom was a literal Gate : an ancient Gateway, built by a xenos species long since dead and dragged into the Eye of Terror when the Eldars' folly had birthed the Dark Prince. Slowly turning around a black hole, it was a ring of arcane technology over a thousand kilometers in diameter, a wondrous feat of engineering that spoke of the advancement of its creators. Whatever scientific principles had once enabled the Gate to function had been twisted by the Eye long ago, however. Daemons born of the last nightmarish echoes of the Gate's creators infested the kilometer-wide ring, and the alien technology had been corrupted into a parody of itself.

Yet despite this, the Gate still worked. A vortex of eldritch energies filled the ring, patterns forming in the endless swirling that caught the souls of several crews foolish enough to look upon it directly. Their bodies fell to dust with a sound akin to a sigh, their spirits ripped from their flesh and cast to whatever doom awaited them within the Gate.

As the Sons of Horus came to the Gate, they realized that they hadn't been the only ones told where to find their prey. Ships bearing the heraldry of the Emperor's Children, the Death Guard, the Thousand Sons, the World Eaters and other, lesser factions of the Eye were arriving. The true intention of the Alpha Legion in revealing this location (if the Gate even led to Bile at all) had become obvious, though their motives remained as obscure as ever.

"_Let the Eye of Terror burn anew, in an inferno lit by the spark of false hope."  
_Anonymous Legionary of the Twentieth Legion

Half-hearted attempts at communication soon broke down. All of them had come for Bile, and none of them were willing to let the others have him. The flotillas prepared to engage each other, as bloodlust and old hatred overpowered the impulse to do the tactically sensible thing and let the others slaughter each other first. But before the first shot was fired, the Gate pulsed, and a fleet emerged from the vortex. Surprised, the hunters disengaged and unlocked their weapons from one another, turning to face these new arrivals.

Leading this new armada was the _Pulchritudinous_. The venerable cruiser, which had born another name during the halcyon days of the Great Crusade, had changed greatly since its coming to the Eye of Terror. But beneath the fleshy growth and Dark Tech augmentations, its original identifier beacon still pulsed its name to the hunters, who matched it against the records of their data-engines. By contrast, the ships that followed the _Pulchritudinous _like wolves behind a pack leader were entirely unknown. Their designs clearly originated from Terran standards, but they had deviated far from the original STC blueprints that had been the source of most of the Imperial Army's vessels. Strange weapons and devices were affixed to their hulls, drawing not upon the dark lore of the Warp, but other technological paths that had either been long forgotten or forbidden by the Mechanicum.

The fleet was almost a match for all the hunting flotillas combined, and even with its coming there was no chance of the hunters working together against it. At its head was none other than Fabius Bile himself, who stood on the bridge of the _Pulchritudinous_. The Chief Apothecary of the Third Legion appeared on the screens of the ships that had searched for him, his gaunt face looking even older than it had at the end of the Heresy, his eyes burning with alloyed madness and conviction.

"_I do not serve Fulgrim, nor any of the other failed Primarchs or the foul entities that control them. I am the Primogenitor of a new race, a New Empire, which will inherit the galaxy long after the Imperium and its enemies have burned down to ash.  
__Welcome to Newgate, cousins. Now, shall we speak business ?"  
_Fabius Bile, during the confrontation at Newgate

The images of the crew that showed in the transmission were disturbing. They seemed human, yet _not_. This was not the alien feyness of the Eldar, whose form was only vaguely similar to Humanity. There was nothing that distinguished these beings from normal humans at a first glance, yet any who looked upon them knew, in their heart of heart, that they were something else. It was a deep, instinctive repulsion, an evolutionary drive to destroy and purge a competitive breed.

These were the New Men, Bile's latest creations. After Skalathrax and the disaster at the Broken Conclave, the Chief Apothecary had grown disillusioned with the Primarchs and his own kind. After his journey through the Eye, gathering followers and resources while leaving abominations in his wake, the Father of Monsters had discovered Newgate, and raised an empire on the other side – one populated solely by his creations, the New Men he had forged from Humanity's genetic code.

With the might of his New Empire's armada behind him, Bile was able to dictate his terms to the hunters. By the time those made it back to their lords, it was easier for them to accept the Father of Monsters' proposal, and a new neutral power appeared in the Eye, though its actual presence was very limited.

A space station was constructed at Newgate, orbiting the same black hole. Aboard it were members of the Consortium, the Apothecaries from various Legions that Bile had gathered to his side during his errance across the Eye of Terror. Named the Fleshmarket, this station became the point of contact between the self-titled New Empire and the rest of the Eye of Terror.

In exchange for a bounty in technology and resources, the Consortium helped replenish the diminished ranks of the Traitor Legions. All who could meet its prices were given access to the gene-mills, where machines straight out of the Dark Age of Technology gave birth to thousands of untainted, flash-grown children ready for implantation and indoctrination - both of which could also be performed by the Fleshmarket's facilities.

Ships of the New Empire regularly passed through the Gate on their way to the Fleshmarket, taking the tributes and bringing supplies and the warriors created in the Empire's own laboratories. While all the Chaos Marines the Consortium produced were created within the Fleshmarket, there were other services available to those with truly extraordinary offerings. Several warlords came to the Fleshmarket as pauper, only to depart with an entire flotilla of New Empire vessels and an army of cloned soldiers, because they had brought something that had caught Bile's attention. Such lavish rewards led to many seeking to earn the Father of Monsters' favor, though few managed to gain it, no matter the lengths they went to in order to secure ancient technology or samples of exotic lifeforms.

"_Three tonnes of Eldar wraithbone, a technomantic array recovered from Medusa itself, the children of a high-gravity world and a drop of Yu'vath blood, whatever those are supposed to be. I tell you, I have no idea what the Chief Apothecary is up to nowadays."  
_Conversation overheard on the Fleshmarket between two members of the Consortium.

There were many who questioned Bile's motives, given his declaration of enmity against both his former Legion and all of the other powers of the Eye. The prevalent theory was that, for all his bluster, the Father of Monsters knew that he could not hold his precious "New Empire" against the combined wrath of the Traitor Legions. The Fleshmarket was a solution to the Traitor Legions' problem, one that no one liked, but, crucially, one they could live with, and one that didn't grant any advantage to a specific Legion. By playing the factions of the Eye against each other, Bile had ensured no one would risk passing through Newgate and launching an invasion of his New Empire.

Of course, that didn't stop them from trying to send spies to find out more about the Father of Monsters' mysterious domain and his New Humanity. Trying to use stealth crafts to pass through Newgate was a doomed endeavour, as the Gate's emanations would reveal any ship that crossed it. Instead, the spymasters of the Eye tried to infiltrate operatives aboard the supply ships. Security was tight on the Fleshmarket, as was expected of a place where such valued goods and services were exchanged, but no security was ever truly foolproof, especially in the Eye of Terror. Hundreds of agents made it aboard the New Empire's vessels, vanishing alongside them through Newgate.

None were ever heard of again. It seemed that the security on the other side of Newgate was even greater, and with no way of obtaining information on what kind of defenses the New Empire was using, the spymasters were forced to resort to brute force in the hope that eventually _one_ of their spies would report _something_. Even the attempts at summoning daemons and asking them about the New Empire failed, as the Neverborn knew nothing of Bile's creations, reinforcing the idea that Newgate may actually lead beyond the borders of the Eye of Terror.

As a result of all this secrecy, the Chaos Marines born from the Fleshmarket were regarded with suspicion by their brethren, who wondered what hidden directives Bile may have implanted deep within their psyches. The best efforts of the Legions' mind-scourges revealed no such thing, which only made those who suspected their presence more paranoid. Yet these reinforcements were too desperately needed, even if the new bloods would forever be kept subservient to the veterans of the Long War, safe for a few exceptions.

And so, thousands of new Chaos Marines were added to the ranks of the Traitor Legions, their only memories being of the Eye of Terror and the Long War. Like the recruits that filled the loyalist Legions now, thousands of years after the Siege of Terra, they knew nothing of the Great Crusade and the Heresy but tales passed down by their elders. Their lives were filled with the brutal battlegrounds of the Eye, as this influx of fresh warriors caused rivalries between warbands to re-ignite, though things didn't escalate into a return of the Legion Wars.

By a cruel irony that was entirely typical of existence in the Eye, only the Death Guard and the Thousand Sons, two Legions that stood opposed in every way, did not make use of the Fleshmarket. Their unique conditions prevented them from employing the Consortium's services. The Thousand Sons' reserves of gene-seed were all but gone because of the Rubric, and the Death Guards were forbidden from stepping foot aboard the Fleshmarket for entirely different reasons. The sons of the Crimson King used different, altogether more eldritch means of maintaining their decimated numbers, while the servants of the Plague God depended upon sorcery and ritual to make worthy mortals, no matter how corrupted and genetically deviant, ascend to the ranks of the Astartes.

Only a few ever suspected that, perhaps, Bile's purpose in opening the Fleshmarket went beyond simply securing his domain. These scattered souls looked upon the renewed conflict between the Traitor Legions and wondered if maybe, just maybe, the Father of Monsters sought to hasten the destruction he had prophesied ...

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AN : No matter the timeline, no matter what changes, one thing remains constant :

Fabius Bile is always a monster.

The Clonelord remains one of my favorite characters of the 40K universe. What lies beyond Newgate ? What horrors are being wrought within the New Empire ? The answer to these mysteries will probably never be revealed, so feel free to come up with your own twisted ideas and share it with others in your review.

12 days left before Christmas, and my special project isn't progressing as well as I would like. I blame both my still being recovering from illness and the fact that the parts I am struggling with are utterly different from anything I have ever written. But I shall not falter ! I shall not fail ! Before the 25th, it shall be ready !

In order to achieve this, however, I am going to need to focus entirely on it. So don't expect much output in the coming two weeks. Until then, here is something to occupy you : there are currently three chapters planned for this fic, which could be written in any order without impacting the story. So I have decided to let you guys decide which one I should write first. Here are your options :

Option 1 : _The War of Infernal Suns_, a tale of horror and ruin, woven through sorcery and ambition.

Option 2 : _The Firsts of the Damned, _the intrigues of the elder lords of the Warp in reaction to the Prince of the Eye's ascension.

Option 3 : _The Testament of Veritus, _a look at how the Imperium has changed since Horus' exile to the Eye of Terror.

Leave your preference in your review. Keep in mind that I fully intend to write _all _of them eventually, so even if the one you choose doesn't win the vote, it's nothing to worry about.

Also, it turns out that writing a Choose Your Own Adventure story is hard. Who could have predicted this ?! So while I haven't abandoned the idea of making one set in Aftermath, it's on the back burner for now.

As always, I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I will see you all (hopefully) soon for something ... quite different. Quite different indeed, yet perhaps familiar at the same time ? Who knows !

Zahariel out.


	23. The Testament of Veritus

Warning : this chapter contains one spoiler for the **War of the Beast **series. Nothing too major (at least nothing galaxy-shattering), but I thought it would be polite to put that here.

* * *

_Verifying credentials … Access granted._

_Initiating recording 9257B-9527._

_Recorded by scribe-servitor designation 698708A "Thot", 270M33, Terra._

The Angel came to me in my dreams last night, and told me I would die soon.

This was no surprising revelation to me, of course. I have known of my coming death for a long time, even if I have never let its looming shadow prevent me from doing my duty. But the Angel told me too that it was enough – that I had served, and served well. I need no longer resort to ever-more desperate means of prolonging my life : it is time for me to accept the inevitable, and trust that what we have built will endure even after I pass from this life and into the arms of the God-Emperor.

I am an old man. I was an old man when this all began, when the galaxy burned and the dream I believed in with all my heart was shattered. I have seen an empire rise, fall, and rise again. I have lived far longer than any mortal man should, and seen far too much. I am tired. So tired. My body is breaking down on a cellular level, rejuvenat treatments no longer able to keep the ravages of time at bay. Half my flesh has been replaced with cybernetic prosthetics designed by the finest artisans of the Mechanicus. But it is not enough. Immortality was not meant for those such as I.

And so this is to be my testament. One last confession, dictated to a servitor because I do not even trust my hands to hold a pen anymore. Once I have died, it will be logged into the archives of the Inquisition, where those worthy of knowing the truth may access it.

All Inquisitors have secrets. It is part of the weight of our mandated task. But I have a great deal of them even by that standard – more, I believe, than almost any others.

Those who think themselves my peers know me as Lastan Neemagiun Veritus, Lord Inquisitor of the Holy Ordos. I have born that name for the longer part of my life, if not the greater one. I took the name of Veritus in the ashes of the Siege of Terra, when the Arch-Traitor and his cohorts fled from the wrath of the Imperium after failing to claim the Throneworld but succeeding in crippling its Master. Before that, before I became one of the first to bear the mantle of Inquisitor, I was known as Kyril Sindermann. I was an iterator of the Great Crusade, tasked with bringing the Imperial Truth to compliant worlds.

I was part of the Warmaster's own entourage. I was there when he fell on Davin, and rose anew, filled with corruption none of us could see. I was there when Isstvan III burned at his command, murdering those of his sons he knew would not follow him into rebellion. I saw miracles and horrors untold, in those darkest of days. The man I was died, and someone new rose in his place.

But the tale of the Heresy is not what this is about. There exist records already of that grim era, even if they are fragmentary and incomplete, purged of that knowledge deemed to dangerous to remain. I understand the need for such wilful ignorance – I was there when it was decided. And so, I shall not speak of the days of Horus' rise, of the civil war that tore the Imperium in two.

I shall instead speak of what happened _after_. The history of the Imperium is a maze filled with mist and mirrors, some of it by design, the rest by accident and the sheer passage of time. So much of the past has been replaced by myth and legends, known only to those few of us who lived it and endure. The Imperium is built on a million lies, and I have helped craft many of them. It would be just, I think, for my last deed in this life to be done under the aegis of the Truth I once sought to serve.

Let this, then, be the tale of the Imperium after the Siege, after the sons of the Emperor clashed and decided the fate of Humanity. We found ourselves amidst the ruins of the Great Crusade's dream, with the Master of Mankind silent on the Golden Throne and the traitors fleeing.

It did not feel like victory.

We believed Horus dead. It must seem foolish now, to those Inquisitors who were born in a galaxy in which the consequences of the Proclamation echo forevermore. But we had _seen _the traitor Warmaster's broken body carried away by his sons, just like the Emperor's own shattered physical form was brought off the _Vengeful Spirit _by Dorn. We had _felt _the clash of divine powers in the heavens above Terra as the Master of Mankind battled His renegade progeny. If the Emperor had emerged from this conflict in such a state, how could Horus, for all his infernal might, have survived ?

The disappearance of the Sons of Horus only reinforced this belief. Remnants of the other Traitor Legions lingered in the galaxy, but of the Sixteenth there was no sign. We took this as proof that their Primarch had died, and that without him, those who had damned themselves in his name no longer had anything left to fight for.

Yet even if Horus was dead, there remained plenty of threats. The Scouring took decades, even with Sanguinius leading the fray, but eventually the last of the Traitor Legions was forced into the Eye of Terror and the last of the tainted worlds was purged of Chaos' vile influence. It was not without cost : billions of lives were lost, either in the conquest of renegade strongholds or in the purges of planets that could not be saved.

Even the Primarchs were not spared the cost. Lion El'Jonson, Primarch of the Dark Angels, fell alongside his homeworld of Caliban when elements of the Traitor Legions destroyed the planet in the name of spiteful hatred; and Jaghatai Khan, lord of the White Scars, vanished when he pursued the Dark Eldars that had preyed upon Chogoris during the Heresy.

The Inquisition, founded by Malcador the Sigillite, then began its appointed task. The forces of Chaos had been defeated in the field of battle, but such had been necessary only because they had succeeded in turning half the might of the Imperium against itself. It fell to us to keep watch against the Archenemy's pernicious influence – a grim and thankless duty, but a necessary one.

And so began the new Age of Imperium. The remaining Primarchs withdrew from the daily running of the Imperium, letting it in the hands of the Council of Terra, where the High Lords gathered. Dorn went to Cadia, the jungle-world that stood before the gate leading into Eye of Terror. The Praetorian remembered his defeat at Perturabo's hands in the Iron Cage, where only the intervention of Sanguinius and Guilliman had prevented his Legion's slaughter. Under his direction, Cadia was remade into a fortress, one that would stand against even the might of the Iron Warriors and the other Traitor Legions, should they ever return.

Most of the Iron Hands who had survived the Isstvan Atrocity had vanished during the Heresy, cast adrift without clear leadership after the mysterious death of Shadrak Meduson. Guilliman went looking for them, and several years later, he returned with the fragmented forces of the Tenth Legion with him, their oaths of loyalty to the Imperium renewed.

Russ returned to Fenris to brood, while Sanguinius left his Legion to take up the mantle of knight-errant and messenger of his father's will across the stars. Vulkan remained on Terra, to help rebuild and then defend it. And Corax … well, the Ravenlord has his secrets, and it is not my place to tell them, not even now.

For over half a millennium, we rebuilt what had been torn down. Much of what was lost in the flames of the Heresy was gone forever : the knowledge of the Mechanicum had been broken in the Martian wars, their priceless libraries set ablaze by the abominations of the rebels.

Most of all, though, we had lost our innocence. The passage of a few generations was enough for the horrors of the Heresy to fade from memory, for the truth of the Warp and those that dwell within to turn to myth and legend. The Inquisition helped bury the truth, one execution and autodafe at a time. I was there when the decision was made that Mankind was not ready to face the reality of the universe, and it is a decision I stand by to this day, despite its terrible cost.

But despite these terrible losses, we endured. Planets whose populations had been wiped out were colonized anew. Ruined cities were rebuilt, spires raising atop the buried remnants of civilizations that had weathered the horrors of Old Night only to fall to those of the Heresy. The Imperial Army was broken between the Imperial Guard and the Imperial Navy, and the loyalist Legions no longer gathered in the tens of thousands, instead operating in smaller Chapters more suited to the task of keeping the peace and serving as the spearhead of the Emperor's armies.

It was in those days that the Ecclesiarchy rose. I, who had been one of the first preachers of the God-Emperor – despite knowing that the _Lectitio Divinatus _had been written by none other than Lorgar himself – played a part in its creation. I believed then as I do now that faith in the God-Emperor would be a shield against the depredations of the Ruinous Powers, and for all the destruction caused by failed priests, I remain steadfast in my conviction that it is a cost worth paying. The Primarchs disagreed, of course – how could they not ? I would have worried if they had _encouraged _the rise of a creed that saw them as demigods and archangels. It is to their credit that they tried to stop us, just as it is that they eventually gave up and accepted the inevitable.

With the pacification of the galaxy, the rebuilding of the Imperium and the mortar of the Imperial Creed, a golden age began. What threats remained were small : alien forces trying our borders, and minor rebellions sprouting on isolated worlds. The Warp Storms that had raged during the Heresy had vanished, and ships sailed the Sea of Souls with greater ease than, according to the records of the Navigator Houses, had been seen since before the Age of Strife.

And then, after over seven centuries of relative peace and prosperity, came the Proclamation.

Those who didn't live it cannot imagine the shock it brought us. I myself nearly perished when I heard the news from Cadia, my centuries-old cardiac system shutting down and requiring the immediate aid of my medicae to bring me back from the brink. I shivered in fright when I heard that hateful voice and the lies it carried across the stars.

But the reaction of the Imperium was much worse. Trapped behind Dorn's walls, Horus had known exactly where to hurt us. The Proclamation did not sunder the Imperium like the Heresy had, but it sent cracks running across its foundations. The High Lords, who had grown used to ruling over a peaceful domain, were terrified at the return of what too many of them had thought to be a mere myth used to justify the power of the Inquisition. I remember hearing cries across the Senatorum Imperialis for negotiations to be opened with the powers of the Eye of Terror, though that particular heresy was but the most shocking of countless traitorous thoughts and plans that were made on Terra in the wake of Lupercal's declaration.

In the end, it fell to the Primarchs to restore order. As world after world burned to those of my peers who vainly sought to silence Horus' voice, the sons of the Emperor returned to the Throneworld. They stood in judgement of the High Lords and their squabbling, and found them wanting. The Senatorum Imperialis was purged, with Sanguinius himself leading it as the Emperor's own wrath. I had seen the Angel fight before, yet even I trembled that day.

With order restored on Terra, the commands were sent across the galaxy. The purges were stopped, and renewed focus was given to preventing the rebellion of Imperial worlds. Sanguinius called the Sisters of Silence, who had fallen out of favor after the Scouring, back from their exile.

The Inquisition branched out, evolving beyond Malcador's framework. Several Ordos were founded, each focusing on one specific aspect of the threats facing Mankind. I myself am a member of the Ordo Malleus, dedicated to stamping out any and all infernal influence upon the soul of Humanity. Other Ordos include the Ordo Xenos, whose members hunt down alien menaces with the Space Wolves serving as their enforcers and champions. But most importantly in those days, the Ordo Hereticus was created to serve as the hunters of witches and heretics, the latter category now including all those who rejected the rule of the Imperium due to Horus' poisonous demagoguery.

The Ecclesiarchy's role was also reinforced in the wake of the Proclamation. No longer could we hide the existence of the Traitor Legions, not when the words of Horus echoed in the Empyrean. In a grand conclave, the Imperial Creed itself was modified. Once more I was there, and helped design the new dogma that would hopefully limit the damage caused by the Proclamation. The Traitor Legions were branded as fallen angels, champions of the God-Emperor who had turned from His grace and been corrupted by daemonic powers. As the nine Traitor Legions began to appear across the galaxy once more, we wove stories of their fall, mixing truth and fiction to paint them as pathetic and tragic figures, who had succumbed to the worst impulses of Humanity and in doing so lost the divine spark granted unto them by the God-Emperor.

The loyal Primarchs and their sons did not appreciate this, nor did they the renewed adoration of the Imperial people for them that followed. But they relented again in the end, unwilling (in this as in many other things) to risk a civil war between the Legiones Astartes and the Armies of Faith. There was little doubt that the Space Marines would win such a conflict, but tear the galaxy asunder anew in doing so. Sanguinius especially was displeased, for we framed the Siege of Terra as Horus fleeing from him, the anointed champion of the God-Emperor and inheritor of His wrath.

The Proclamation raised many questions, and caused much debates among the ranks of the Inquisition. Not on its veracity, of course – any who dare raise that question as anything else than a devil's argument are promptly executed. But faced with this new approach of the Arch-Traitor, we must ask ourselves : is the tyranny of the Imperium the best way forward ? By enforcing the rule of the God-Emperor with an iron fist, do we not facilitate the very rise of rebellion and heresy ?

If Horus were only an exiled prince, only a rebellious warlord who sought to overthrow the Imperium and sit himself upon his father's throne, then yes, perhaps such would be the case. But he is much more than that. We Inquisitors are not enforcers of a cruel and tyrannical regime akin to countless others in Humanity's history, using propaganda and fear to maintain our rule. Horus and his cohorts are the champions of actual infernal powers, daemonic entities of immense power and limitless malice who seek to drag our entire species into damnation. The totalitarian regimes we empower across thousands of worlds are the only way to keep the corruption of Chaos from taking root, even if their ruthlessness breeds discontent and rebellion. It is tempting to rule with a lighter hand, but even in Ultramar, where Guilliman's rule brings prosperity and relative freedom, there is still dissent, as petty tyrants seek to build their own empires in the Avenging Son's shadow – only to be mercilessly crushed at the first sign of Chaotic influence or once diplomacy has failed.

And so began the Age of Vigilance, amidst tyranny and paranoia, in which we all yet live.

Since the Proclamation, the Imperium's borders have more or less remained constant, with our attention focused inward. Fewer colonies are established every year, as it is easiest for heresy to take root on frontier worlds where the Imperial infrastructure isn't yet fully developed. Those few new settlements created on resource-rich worlds discovered by Rogue Traders are heavily monitored by the Ordo Hereticus – a heavy-handedness that, once again, causes much resentment and fear from the population.

The Iron Hands were brought in to handle the purge of rebellious worlds, performing their task with cold rigour and mathematical precision. The Iron Fathers judge rebels and heretics by exacting standards, deciding alongside Inquisitors how much of the local population must be exterminated to remove the rot. Theirs is a dreaded name, and not one invoked lightly.

The Imperial Fists are the defenders of Cadia and the Aegis Ocularis, keeping close watch on the Eye of Terror. Information on what transpires within that realm of madness is scarce, extracted from the few Chaos Marines who have been captured over the centuries. Even what these traitors tell us is often contradictory, but we do know that, after a time of conflict known as the "Legion Wars", the Traitor Legions have settled into an uneasy peace and focused their efforts on the corruption of the Imperium in preparation for the day they break free of the Eye and return to the Materium.

The White Scars have become hunters of pirates, laying traps and ambushes for renegades and alien reavers. They hate the Dark Eldar above all others, and still search for the location of their lost gene-sire. With the bulk of the Imperial Navy dedicated to internal security, the denizens of Commoragh must plan their raids in realspace very carefully, and it is believed by the Ordo Xenos that the Dark City has been going hungry for centuries now. I have spoken with colleagues belonging to that Ordo who fear that, in the coming years, the highborn of that hateful xenos breed will be forced to take drastic action to satisfy the gnawing hunger at the core of their darkling souls.

The Five Hundred Worlds are the pinnacle of the new Imperium. Under Guilliman, this sector of space is the most prosperous, peaceful and advanced area of the Imperium. From within it come the armies of Ultramar, under the leadership of the Thirteenth Legion, bringing support and succour to other parts of the Imperium. But even there, even now, there is dissent. The Traitor Legions know of Guilliman's importance in the new order, and there are many Inquisitors stationed in the Five Hundred Worlds, dedicated to protecting them from the schemes of the Archenemy.

With the memory of the Primarchs' purge after the Proclamation, the High Lords have remained focused on their duties, with only minor corruption, focused on venal pursuits at levels that are to be expected from people holding such power. Vulkan remains on Terra as a further remainder of the peril of failure, and his genius has helped transform the entire Sol system into something that is almost completely self-sustaining, without the dependency on imported resources that was the norm during the Great Crusade. With our borders secured, there is less need for military resources than during the Great Crusade – indeed, any Governor gearing up for war without due course will draw the eye of the Inquisition, as this is a warning of potential rebellion – and the tithes across the Imperium have lowered accordingly. Even so, the prosperity of the post-Heresy era has yet to return, let alone the utopia that was promised during the Great Crusade.

The disappearance of Russ was another blow to the Imperium. Even if the Wolf King had remained on Fenris since the end of the Scouring, knowing that the Traitor Legions could strike at one of the Legions' homeworld was a sobering thought. All loyal Legions redoubled the defenses of their own homeworlds in the wake of the Crimson King's attack, and the ties between the Sixth Legion and the Ordo Xenos were reinforced as the Space Wolves sought to safeguard their place in the Imperium without their Primarch.

The Long War continues. Through their heretical sorcery, scattered across the galaxy by the thrice-accursed cult-ships of Horus, Chaos Marines hailing from all nine Traitor Legions walk the worlds of the Imperium once more. Never in great number, thankfully, but even a single fallen Astartes is a force to be reckoned with, capable of turning a conspiracy of grumbling nobles into a planet-wide rebellion that can only be put down with Exterminatus. I have faced these tainted grandchildren of the God-Emperor several times during my career, and lost friends and parts of myself to them.

I have witnessed horrors that nearly matched those of the Heresy – for even now, after so many centuries, the memories of those days are still burned in my mind, in my very soul. The Chaos Marines who are sent from the Eye are cunning ones, capable of hiding the true extant of their corruption, but when their back is at the wall – or when their foul plans finally unfold – their true nature is revealed for all to see. I have seen men, women and children offered up as sacrifices to the Dark Gods, seen disciplined armies turned to blood-crazed hordes, seen cities reduced to ash and less than ash. But through it all, I have endured, I have kept going on.

For the dream of the God-Emperor may have died, but hope yet remains, so long as there is breath left in us to defy the cruelty of Fate, to stand against the tides of Ruin, to spit in the eye of Chaos.

Only in death does duty ends, and my duty will soon be ended, after over two thousand years.

… I wonder, will she be waiting for me ?

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AN : Happy new year, everyone ! You voted for it last chapter, and a large majority of you wanted this chapter to come first, so here we are.

Next will be **Firsts of the Damned, **and then **The War of the Infernal Suns.**

I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. If you have further questions about the situation in the Imperium in this timeline, don't hesitate to ask them : I am thinking of putting a Q&A in the next chapter, for the questions that couldn't be answered in-story (Prince of the Eye, after all, is mostly a story about what happens in the Eye of Terror).

I had the notes for this chapter down about a month ago, but it wasn't until yesterday I started actually writing it in its proper form. You can thank A Practical Guide to Evil for that, a webnovel of truly exceptional quantity that I recommend to anyone who enjoys reading fantasy stories with well-written characters, background, drama, and generally everything. Yes, my muse is truly a fickle creature.

The recent drought of content on my part comes from several things, first among which was a sickness which has thankfully passed for now. Here is to hoping that continues !

Zahariel out.


	24. Firsts of the Damned

_Maeleum Datum : ?.?_

There are no kings in the Eye of Terror : even proud Horus dares only claim the title of Prince. The same is true among daemons, though there are legends of ancient, powerful Daemon Kings, who ruled over kingdoms stretching across the stars.

If such beings ever existed, they are gone now, slain by those who oppose the corruption of the Warp or cast down in ages past by Gods that brook no rivals to their absolute dominion over the Neverborn. But though there are no kings among daemonkind, there still exists an aristocracy of Hell, made up of the Ruinous Powers' most exalted slaves. Daemon Princes and Greater Daemons, the lords of their own infernal hosts : warlords and courtiers of the Great Game of Chaos, forever dancing to the tune of the Dark Gods. Across the Eye and beyond, their names and titles are whispered in the darkness, and inscribed upon parchment and stone by the hands of madmen.

A conclave of such beings was gathering on the daemon world of Hak'Lor'Ven, where a trillion lost souls were trapped in a single moment of betrayed hope. As the tides of the Eye shifted, the daemon world was left unchanged, an eternal monument to the folly of the ancient race that had thought to cheat the Dark Gods of their due, in an age before the Fall of the Eldar. The infernal nobility met high above the fields of frozen souls, atop the remnants of the tower upon which the ill-fated ritual that had doomed this world had been conducted.

There it was that the Daemon Lords who met on Hak'Lor'Ven's highest point, gathered from across the Eye of Terror to discuss matters of pacts and vengeance. They were exiles all, chased from their own domains by the armies of the Traitor Legions, these upstart newcomers to the Great Game. As the Legion Wars had raged, the sons of the renegade Primarchs had sought to draw every resource available in the Eye of Terror under their control. With blade and sorcery, they had conquered daemon world after daemon world, heedless of the ancient treaties and rights of conquest that had seen them divided between the children of the Pantheon after the birth of the Dark Prince.

The tower was vast beyond mundane engineering, raised at the apex of a civilization that had reached too far and touched its doom on the other side of the Veil. The platform upon which the Daemon Lords met was nearly a kilometer in diameter, and host to hundreds of crystallized statues. There was space enough for all seventy-two infernal lords to manifest, though some of them had assumed shapes less enormous than those they usually favoured as a concession to the needs of the gathering. Each of them had come alone, leaving their followers at the base of the tower, where already they had begun to kill each other for sport. It did not matter to the Daemon Lords even if they all wiped themselves out – this gathering, this infernal conclave, was far more important.

Never had so many Daemon Princes and Greater Daemons of different choirs met in the Materium, and rarely had this happened even in the Eye of Terror, or even in the Realms of Chaos themselves. The sheer diversity of the gathering was a sign of the scale of the disturbance introduced by the Traitor Legions into what passed for the balance of power within the Eye.

The being known as the Sovereign of Starless Nights was a figure of absolute blackness in which shone the light of the stars as seen from its homeworld, before it had stolen them and driven its own people into a pit of existential dread so powerful they had destroyed themselves. For ages uncounted it had reigned over the husk of that world, cloaked in eternal night, until the rise of Slaanesh had pulled it into the Eye of Terror, where the Sovereign had been overthrown by a cabal of champions bearing the Eye of Horus as their banner. After a long period of discussions, intrigues, alliances and betrayals, the Sovereign had emerged as the representative of the seventeen Tzeentchian Daemon Lords present at the conclave.

Of the seventy-two, the chosen of Khorne numbered the least. None of the Blood God's champions had retreated before the advance of the Traitor Legions, and most of those who had been forced out of their worlds by either sorcery or defeat had been co-opted by Angron's crusade in the Radiant Worlds, where the Lord of the Red Sands battled the Anathema's light-forged angels in an endless slaughter. But a few had come to Hak'Lor'Ven all the same, their fury at being defeated through cowardly means surpassing even the pull of Angron's call to eternal war. There were eight of them, as there should be, and the one who came to speak in Khorne's name was the mightiest of them all – again, as it should be. Vangash'hagash the Ever-Bloody would have been classified by the Diabolists of the Traitor Legions as a Bloodthirster. Once, it had ruled over the daemon world of Kathalon, endlessly fighting against the legions of Tzeentch – until a cabal of Horusian Sorcerers led by Ahriman himself had bound its Tzeentchian rival to their service and crafted a ritual that had forced the Bloodthirster to depart from the world and prevented its return for as long as their banner flew upon its captured stronghold.

With fire and sorcery, the plague planets of the Nurglite Neverborn had been cleansed so that the Traitor Legions could harvest their resources for their own use. Orbital bombardments had razed cities of rot and rust, and Sorcerers had stalked the ruins and burned everything down, banishing the wounded daemons back into the Empyrean while their will reached out and forced out their influence. Only where the flag of the Fourteenth Legion flew were the scions of the Grandfather safe, for of the nine Traitor Legions, only the sons of Mortarion were willing to share their domains with the pestilent Neverborn. By their very nature, the champions of entropy were anathema to the sons of Primarchs who sought to build their empires within the Eye of Terror, and so they found themselves hunted by all Chaos Marines, only rarely bound into servitude and containment instead. Twenty-one Lords of Decay had gathered to Hak'Lor'Ven, the tower beneath their feet straining as the curse of unchanging permanence cast upon it by the Gods struggled to resist the pull of entropy. Speaking for the scions of Plague was Kog'Hevor, the Bestower of Sorrow. Unlike most daemons of Nurgle, the Bestower did not resemble the grotesquely bloated figure of the Plaguefather himself, but was instead a tall, skeletal figure clad in a hooded cloak woven from the life-strands of the countless millions it had slain through spreading the gifts of Nurgle.

Since the Fall of the Eldar and the opening of the Eye, the scions of Slaanesh had held dominion over the greatest number of daemon worlds, though their initially complete control had only waned as the other three Ruinous Powers sought mastery of this priceless territory. But though the Dark Prince's holdings in the Eye had been on the decline since the Great Game had begun in his grave-birth, the children of Slaanesh were still the most numerous faction among the dispossessed Daemon Lords. Their pleasure palaces and fields of pain had proven poor defences against the brute military force of the Legions, and though defeat was an experience to be savored as much as any other, so too was revenge for every slight inflicted upon them. Nineteen daughters and sons of the Youngest God had heeded the call to gather, and the one who spoke for them was Ilkerya, Duchess of Delightful Agonies. She had come to the gathering in the shape of a tall Eldar female, the image of one of the Soul-broken's ancient goddesses tainted only by her missing eyes, which wept tears of blood and within the empty depths of which gleamed a hungry light. In her hands, she held the broken remnants of her sword, which had been ruined by the Dark Apostles of the Seventeenth Legion when they had conquered her world in the name of Lorgar and the Crimson Accords.

Seven other Daemon Lords were of no easily recognizable allegiance. These were the children of Chaos Undivided, who paid fealty to none of the individual Powers. They had all once walked the galaxy as mortals, for it was only by elevating those of their champions who had earned their combined favor that the Dark Gods could tolerate creating Neverborn not bound to them. Like the daemon kings of old, there were stories that spoke of such creatures, spawned in the earliest days of the Primordial Annihilator – but they were stories and nothing more, not any longer. The seven stood together, isolated from the rest of the daemonic courts, for they were ever a breed apart – marked for a special kind of greatness even among Daemon Lords, while at the same time forever looked down upon for their mortal origins. First among them was a being called the Lord of Gears, a humanoid shape in a crimson cloak with a multitude of eyes peering out from its hood, set between ever-turning brass gears. It had been human, during the Dark Age of Technology, and though its dominion was far from the Eye of Terror it had still been usurped, stolen from it by one of the most successful cults created by the Horusian ships who had slipped through the Cadian Gate at the Proclamation.

It was the Sovereign of Starless Nights that spoke first.

Daemons do not speak in any mortal tongue when communicating with one another. Even those who originated from the ranks of the living are creatures of raw concept and emotion, given form by their animating will and aspect by the nightmares of those who behold them trying to make sense of something that has no place in the Materium. When the children of Chaos communicate, on those rare occasions when they can tolerate another's presence, they do so in their own way, which only tangentially resembles what mortals think of as language. To creatures such as they, there is no such thing as idle chatter, no wasted words or meaningless banter. Like the Dark Gods they are fragments of, they exchange concepts and ideas rather than words, and every single one of them holds the seeds of damnation. But the surface of their exchange can be translated, however imperfectly, into something comprehensible by mortal minds.

The Sovereign began by stating once more the purpose of this exalted gathering. Though they had suffered at the hands of warbands from all nine exiled Legions, the Daemon Lords knew who was the source of their predicament, said the Tzeentchian representative. Horus, Warmaster of Chaos and self-proclaimed Prince of the Eye, had by his very presence altered the nature of the Great Game within the Eye. The mortal armies that had come to the Eye in the wake of the Gods' strike against the Anathema had been supposed to be broken, added to the ranks of the Lost and the Damned that populated the realm and made the playthings of the Daemon Lords.

Yet instead, these primates sought to become lords of their own. Horus' shadow and example loomed large, and if one mortal warlord, however exalted, could hold dominion over the Blessed, then why could not others ? By his presence, the Warmaster had made whole that which should have been sundered, either in his service or in opposition to him. This had to end, the Sovereign declared, to the grudging acclaim of its peers. The dominion of the Legions upon the Eye of Terror must be broken, and mortals made to remember their place in the hierarchy of the Gods' servants.

The Duchess of Delightful Agonies mentioned Aftermath, the city of cities, and the Masters who now ruled it. Horus' conquest of the Forge of Souls was yet another slight from the upstart, yet Ilkerya pointed out the opportunity it had created for them. The Masters would not have deigned join the efforts against Horus before – they had cared for nothing beyond their domain and the paying of the tithes by their horde of Soul Grinders. But now, all knew that they too had sworn revenge against the Warmaster. But Kog'Hevor shook its head. The Masters had already been approached : they had their own designs, their own plans and schemes, and would only join forces with other powers if those came to them as subordinates, not equals. Even in their exile, said the Bestower of Sorrow, they were prideful creatures, reflecting of their own origins. And besides, the Masters were known to the Warmaster : by associating themselves with the former lords of the Forge of Souls, the Daemon Lords risked drawing attention to themselves before they were ready.

Slowly, a coalition began to form, as the inherent hatred the Firsts of the Damned held for one another were eclipsed by their displeasure with the Legions who had usurped their kingdoms. What passed for infernal diplomacy was a dreadful thing indeed, and pacts that involved the doom of billions of souls were made as bribes. Months passed, turning to years, and still the discussion continued, progressing ever so slowly. Something which mortals may have called a charter was drafted, describing the terms and goals of the Convention of Hak'Lor'Ven. The Daemon Lords wrote it in blazing letters upon the flayed skin of dead Legionaries, and one by one all seventy-two signed it, investing part of their power into the charter, willingly binding themselves to it so that all would be forcefully bound to its terms in turn.

It was then that a great shadow fell upon the assembled Daemon Lords. The skies of Hak'Lor'Ven were suddenly shrouded in darkness, and from that darkness descended a tall figure, cloaked in the very fabric of night itself. This was Be'lakor, Master of Shadows and Firstborn of the Gods, eldest of all Daemon Princes, who had been elevated when the galaxy was young and the Old Ones had not yet faded from history into myth. Though his star had dimmed since the Dark Gods had elevated other champions to daemonhood, Be'lakor remained mighty, his cruelty and malice dreaded even by Daemon Lords.

There was a pause, as the seventy-two wondered if the Master of Shadows had come to add his strength to the Convention. The Master of Shadows glanced over the gathered Lords, his glare full of amused contempt. Then, without further fanfare, he snatched the Convention's charter and vanished.

There was a great uproar, rage and confusion mixed. It was the Sovereign of Starless Nights who first noticed that the heavens above Hak'Lor'Ven had changed. No longer did the burning lights of the Eye of Terror shone upon the Convention : instead, a uniform scarlet glow stretched from horizon to horizon, and the Daemon Lords were trapped beneath it, unable to escape from the daemon world.

Be'lakor, in a feat of ritual sorcery made possible only by the unique conditions within the Eye of Terror, had used the Convention's charter as the keystone for a working of truly staggering scale. The Firstborn of Chaos had turned Hak'Lor'Ven into a jewel-like bauble, which he presented to Horus Lupercal as a gift and sign of alliance.

The Warmaster looked at the orb, seeing past its crystalline exterior and at the caged Lords inside, and smiled, before welcoming the First of the Damned to his court.

Like the Daemon Lords, Be'lakor had observed the rise of the Traitor Legions within the Eye of Terror. But where the possibility of being overthrown as the Gods' favoured in the Eye had driven the Lords to wrath, the Master of Shadows had seen opportunity instead. Be'lakor cared naught for being the first among the Dark Gods' servants : during the countless aeons he had spent as a Prince of Ruin, the Master of Shadows had long since grown to covet the power of godhood for himself. Horus, who wielded the might of all four Ruinous Powers yet was beholden to none, seemed to Be'lakor a path to the ultimate dominion he desired for himself.

For a time, Be'lakor remained on Maeleum, acting as one of Horus' advisors in matters related to the Neverborn. The Master of Shadows was not trusted, of course – Horus was no fool – but his knowledge of the intricacies of the various pacts and ancient covenants by which the Ruinous Powers were bound surpassed even that gleaned by Horus when he had ascended on Molech. With his assistance, the Warmaster was able to play upon the ever-present distrust and conflict between the choirs of the Dark Gods, and any possibility of a new daemonic alliance against the Warmaster faded away. Entire daemon worlds were lost to renewed warfare as immortal grudges were stoked once more, and the dreams of psykers across the galaxy were filled with dreadful imagery as the echoes of these conflicts reached them.

Eventually, however, Be'lakor vanished from Maeleum. None knew where he had gone, and those few who dared to ask Horus received only an enigmatic smile in response. Wild theories blossomed : some thought the Warmaster had destroyed or imprisoned the Daemon Prince after a failed attempt at usurpation while others believed that Horus had sent Be'lakor on a secret assignment. Regardless, the Firstborn of Chaos was not found, despite the best efforts of many of Horus' paranoid enemies (and not a few of his allies).

As for Hak'Lor'Ven, it remained within the Prince of the Eye's palace on Maeleum, a jewel laying on a cushion woven from the souls of the Warmaster's foes. Within, the Daemon Lords remained, and though they were exiled from reality and unreality alike they remained mighty and cunning.

By the terms of the Convention, they were proscribed from directly harming one another, save for the case of agreed upon duels – a clause which had been added to the charter in order to placate the Khornate Neverborn. And so they built kingdoms instead, dividing Hak'Lor'Ven between themselves. Together, a cabal of Daemon Lords found a way to break the crystal statues of the world's doomed inhabitants and bind the souls within, resurrecting that ancient species into a new form as their slaves – before the cabal split, and its secrets were spread among the seventy-two, now calling themselves the Exiles. Worshipped by these deceived creatures, the Exiles created new civilizations, each reflecting their own aspect of the Primordial Truth, and with those they intrigued and made war upon one another like gods from ancient myth. Some still sought a way to break Be'lakor's bindings and return to the Eye of Terror, but even those were forced to participate in the small-scale version of the Great Game that raged across the daemon world.

From the outside, looking upon the bauble, one could see the lights of these conflicts shine through the Firstborn's cage, and it was used as a conversation piece and an example of the dangers of defying Horus for visitors and diplomats from the other realms of the Eye. Yet it also remained under heavy guard, for Horus was no fool, and did not trust the gifts of daemons.

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AN : Is keeping Hal'Lor'Ven within Horus' palace on Maeleum going to come back to bite him in the ass ? Who knows !

The concept for this chapter was inspired by the First Fallen from the Tabletop-RPG _Infernum_ and the Palmerston Convention from _Sunless Sea._

Next up and last of the three choices I gave you is _War of the Infernal Suns._ I am also almost done with the next chapter of _Warband of the Forsaken Suns_, which should be published this week-end barring unforeseen developments.

As always, I welcome your feedback on this chapter and your ideas for what might come next.

Zahariel out.


	25. War of the Infernal Suns

_Maeleum Datum : M33_

Of all the Traitor Legions, the Thousand Sons held the least territory within the Eye of Terror. Their diminished numbers and the defeat of the Crimson Accords had left them with but a handful of daemon worlds under their control, all within striking distance of Sortiarius itself. These worlds had been reshaped by sorcery into nigh-impregnable strongholds, the size and complexity of which would not have shamed Perturabo himself. Within these fortresses, guarded by elite Rubricae, armies of mortal soldiers, bound daemons and stranger, darker things, the sons of Magnus worked.

The servants of Tzeentch were disproportionally active in the Long War, thanks to their mastery of sorcery. In the repressive Imperium, many secret lodges pursuing knowledge for its own sake had blossomed under their distant influence, while cults that worshipped mutation as a boon rather than a curse flourished in the twisted underclasses. But many among the sons of Magnus still hungered for revenge against the Sixteenth Legion and its Primarch, both for the destruction of Prospero and their humiliation in the Legion Wars. However, they were bitterly aware of how outmatched their Legion was in the Eye of Terror compared to the Horusians. Within their realm, the Thousand Sons were strong enough that none dared attack them, but they lacked the means to go on the offensive.

A group of nine Sorcerers, knowing this, designed a plan to change the situation. In order to match the Warmaster's armies, the Fifteenth Legion needed more resources – more territory – more _worlds. _And while the Thousand Sons had expanded as much as they could, there were plenty of rich systems _outside _the Eye of Terror.

So was founded the Conspiracy of the Stars, a brotherhood whose purpose was to draw entire Imperial star systems into the Eye of Terror, using sorcery on a grand scale to deliver them within the borders of the Fifteenth Legion's territory.

The nine Sorcerers targeted a trio of prosperous star systems, with a stable, self-sustaining population and a developed industrial base. Then they set to work, using all the methods their Legion had perfected during the Long War and inventing a few new ones. Wary of interference, they left their Legion's domain and ventured into the depths of the Eye of Terror, far from any stellar object whose influence may have disturbed their work, and set up a trio of warded stations from where they could weave their schemes in peace and seclusion.

Three Sorcerers remained within each of these stations, each team focused on a different system. With the sons of Magnus reaching through the Empyrean, discontent, heresy and outright rebellion soon festered. Covens of unbound psykers grew, aided by the guidance of distant, transhuman benefactors. As unrest grew, kept from the Inquisition's notice by high-placed pawns, the Conspiracy began to weave its great scheme. Cultist cells were taught rituals that would, their benefactors claimed, usher in a new age of freedom and progress for their worlds – though they would require the ultimate sacrifice from the faithful, whose devotion would be rewarded with transcendence.

The actual purpose of these rituals was to infuse each of the stars at the heart of the three systems with empyric power. The existence of the Mandeville Point had long proven that astral objects influenced the boundary between Materium and Immaterium, and the cabal of astromancers wanted to turn the immense power contained within a star to tear that boundary down and drag the systems to the Eye of Terror directly, where their populations and resources could be claimed by the Fifteenth Legion.

The three outposts were expanded, with great runic arrays attached to the central chambers where the Conspirators sat in meditation, their astral selves projected beyond the Eye of Terror. Cultists and bound daemons engraved sorcerous sigils, writing down the counterparts to the hymns their masters whispered in the souls of their distant servants. It was not enough, after all, simply to drown the targeted systems in the Warp – they had to be dragged into the Eye of Terror and anchored there.

Unbeknownst to the sons of Magnus, however, their great work had been sabotaged. Agents, perhaps belonging to the Warmaster, or to the Hydra, or to any other of the Eye's myriad factions, had learned of the Conspiracy's goals. They had reported their findings to their masters, and those masters had decreed that the Sorcerers could not be allowed to succeed and upset the delicate balance of the Eye's powers.

Yet directly attacking the Conspiracy would restart the Legion Wars, and so sabotage was chosen instead. It did not take much : the ritual the Conspiracy intended was mindbogglingly complex, and it took very little to disrupt the vast array of runes and sacrifices it required – though much more effort was needed to ensure the Sorcerers did not notice it until it was too late.

However, even the saboteurs did not realize the impact their actions would have. They thought, not without reason, that the ritual would fail, and the backlash would destroy the Conspiracy and discourage any from following in their footsteps. And if the three target systems were obliterated in the process, well, weakening the Imperium was always a victory in the Long War. As long as they were far from the ritual when it occurred, there was no reason to be worried.

But that was not what happened. Perhaps the sheer scope of the Conspiracy's ambition had caught the attention of the Changer of Ways, who would not allow it to come to such an unsatisfying end. Or perhaps the Conspiracy had already been betrayed from within, by one who sought to use the ritual to achieve transcendental power. Or perhaps – just perhaps – it was naught but the result of random chance, of mortal agents meddling in matters complex beyond their understanding. Such things happen, even in the Realm of the Gods.

The ritual began as had been planned. Across the three star systems, cults set in motion schemes decades in the making. Disorder and anarchy spread on hive-worlds, while the magi and witches seized ships and made for the sun of their system. There, they performed a ritual sacrifice, offering up their own souls to empower the Conspiracy's great ritual. The three suns pulsed crimson, and the veil between reality and unreality was rent asunder, dragging everything within the stars' gravitational pull into the Warp. There, the sympathetic connection created by the Conspiracy dragged the systems toward the Eye of Terror, where they emerged from the roiling, Sector-sized mass of Warp energy brought into being by the ritual.

It was then that the sabotage took effect. The souls of the nine Sorcerers were ripped from their bodies and cast into the stars they had stolen. There, they fused with the mass of shapeless thoughts and memories that had been the shades of their cultists. Though the individuality of the Sorcerers' mortal pawns had been completely consumed, the dogma with which they had been manipulated remained.

The result of this unholy fusion was the creation of three sentient, living suns, whose broken minds whole-heartedly believed in the astral theology the Sorcerers had used to deceive their cultists. Their light fell upon the stolen Imperial worlds, and all those touched by their rays had their free will stripped away, their souls branded with an awful mark that compelled lavish obedience to the skyward gods. The terror of having been dragged into the Eye of Terror vanished, along with most of their minds, leaving behind little but automatons, puppets of their star-gods.

The living suns took their servants and reshaped them into new forms, born from the depths of their insanity. Flesh melted like wax under their light, and abominations rose to unholy life. The spires of Imperial hives, most exposed to the radiance due to being above the pollution clouds, were the most affected. The nobles who had grown wealthy on the work of their serfs were hideously transformed, the light burrowing deep into their flesh and soul to create Myrmidons. Their faces and features were burned away, and their nerves glowed beneath their skin with the light that had travelled up their optic nerves and throughout their entire bodies. Little more than puppets of the living suns, the Myrmidons served as reservoirs of their light, carrying it beyond their immediate reach and unleashing it through their blazing eye sockets.

The living suns also imposed their will upon the raw stuff of the Warp, forcing a twisted order upon it to create a new kind of daemon. They reached deep into Mankind's ancient nightmares to find the shape that suited their needs, and created legions of devils, pale-skinned and clad in scorched-black armor. They walked on cloven feet, and in their clawed hands they held spears tipped with slivers of the nameless dread that compels mortals to kneel before altars in supplication.

The thee infernal suns were not satisfied with their dominion, however. Their insanity demanded that they rule all that there was to rule, for their gestalt minds believed that this was their right, their duty, their purpose. Stolen cargo ships and Imperial Navy patrols were brought near the suns, and they infused their metal with their power, twisting their crew hideously, fusing them to their stations and creating things that resembled daemonships yet were unmistakably _other._

Vast factories were transformed to create millions of mirrors, which were brought as close to the living suns as possible without melting. Exposed to their baleful light, these mirrors became reservoirs of their power, which were carried as weapons to nearby daemon worlds. All those exposed to their radiance succumbed to the same affliction that had conquered the three stolen Imperial systems.

"_Join us. Your resistance only makes this more painful for you __than it has to be. You need only put down your weapons and welcome the light within your heart. Then, a__ll s__hall__ be well, and all manners of things shall be well."  
_Inferna Astra broadcast

But the Damned would not meekly surrender their kingdoms unto these pretender-gods. The Inferna Astra, as they quickly came to be called, made great initial gains, conquering several dozen daemon worlds. But soon the might of the Legions, the Lost and the Dark Mechanicum gathered against them. None, not even the Thousand Sons themselves, would submit to the Infernal Suns, and so war erupted once again across the Eye of Terror.

It was a strange coalition that gathered to fight the minions of the Infernal Suns. Warriors who had bled together during the Great Crusade and the Heresy, only to become mortal foes in its catastrophic aftermath, were made allies once more by circumstances and a common enemy. So abhorrent was the rapture visited by the Inferna Astra upon their slaves that all hatreds were, if not abandoned, then at the very least put on hold.

The gates of the Horusian Dominion opened, and the forces of the Warmaster sallied forth. The Dark Council of Sicarius called the Hosts to crusade against the heretical gods. The Plague Fleets were marshalled under Mortarion's banner. A cold signal was spread from one Dark Mechanicum enclave to another, bearing the mark of Kelbor-Hal himself, summoning his once-vassals to war. The armies of the Hexarch, who had once been an Imperial Army General, clashed against the Infernal Suns' light-daemons on three different daemon worlds, winning victory after victory until the Hexarch herself broke the power of the Myrmidons leading the legions.

Sorcerers designed wards that shielded combatants from the influence of the Inferna Astra's radiance, and one by one their banners were cast down from the daemon worlds they had conquered. But while the conquests of the Inferna Astra could be reclaimed, all Sorcerers within the Traitor Legions concurred that attacking the Infernal Suns within the heart of their power was suicide at best, and an offering of new slaves at worst. Yet so long as the Infernal Suns endured, they would remain capable of drawing limitless armies from the raw stuff of the Warp itself.

And so Horus turned to his brother Perturabo, to whom he had entrusted the Forge of Souls after claiming it from the Masters, and bade the Lord of Iron to craft a weapon that could murder the abominable stars.

The agents who had sabotaged the ritual, kept hidden since its disastrous advent, were quietly transferred to the Forge of Souls, and all they knew from the Inferna Astra was ripped from their souls and used to design the means to undo the poisoned fruit of their failures. By the time their chained bodies reached Medrengard, all knowledge of their true masters had already been excised from their minds – lest the fragile coalition risk being torn apart by recrimination and blame for causing the War in the first place.

Perturabo bent his cold intellect to the task, combining the knowledge extracted from the saboteurs with the dark lore he had learned in the days since he had led his Legion through the Eye's black heart and secrets from the terrible war that ended Humanity's Age of Technology. In the deepest quarters of the Forge of Souls, where only the Masters had ever set foot before, the Lord of Iron and his mechanized minions created a bomb of awful potency, one capable of extinguishing a star.

The coalition's forces laid siege to one of the three Infernal Suns, keeping its minions at bay while a suicidal task force was sent to detonate the bomb as close to the star as possible.

It worked. The bomb exploded, and the living sun was slain, turned into a dead black hole. But at the moment of its demise, its shriek ravaged the entire system, murdering every single creature within it. In a single moment, thousands of Chaos Marines and millions of mortal slaves perished, and the agony of their demise created a host of feral Neverborn roaming across the system's desolated worlds and the ruins of their ships.

Amidst the recriminations and accusations of sabotage, one thing was clear : the coalition couldn't pay a similar price to kill the remaining two Inferna Astra, not without significantly weakening the Eye of Terror in the Long War. And so, for the first time since the beginning of the war, Horus left Maeleum and journeyed to the domain of the living suns. The Prince of the Eye made a simple offer to the pretender-gods : they could either remain confined within their home territory, left alone and free to revel in their own absolute power – or they could continue to seek dominion over the Eye, in which case he would destroy them, regardless of the cost.

Despite their madness, the living suns remembered Horus, and knew that the Warmaster would not hesitate to make good on his threats if he were pushed. Faced with the awesome power of the Prince of the Eye and the knowledge that their kindred had already been slain, they relented and acceded to Horus' offer. A blockade was established around the two Inferna Astra to make sure they held to the terms of the accords, and the coalition quickly dissolved, with the first shots being fired within minutes of Horus' return and announcement.

In the following years, the Inferna Astra mostly kept to the terms of the peace. As Horus had known they would, they still sought to extend their dominion, building small ships that slipped by the quarantine, carrying light-infused mirrors and disguised Myrmidons. A new player appeared in the endless games of intrigue of the Eye, and the Infernal Suns even used their ancient knowledge to reach into the dreams of mortals beyond the Eye, finding it easy to corrupt those offshoots of the Ecclesiarchy that took the form of solar cults.

As the thirty-third millennium drew to a close, the Inquisition learned of this new aspect of the Archenemy, and the Ordo Hereticus developed means to detect such corruption, while the Ordo Malleus investigated the strange daemons such cults eventually brought into the Materium and learned how to destroy them.

* * *

AN : Yes, this chapter was inspired by what you probably think it was. (If you have no idea what that means, I'm afraid I can't tell you without spoiling something quite impressive to find out for yourself).

I don't have much to say today. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please tell me what you thought of it and what you would like to see in this fic's future ... Oh, I know : the next chapter of **A Blade Recast **is almost done. Hopefully I will be able to publish it today.

That's all for now.

Zahariel out.


	26. The Lost Fleet

**The Lost Fleet**

_Maeleum Datum : 758.M33_

While it is their names that history remembers most, the Traitor Legions were far from the only forces Horus rallied to his banner during his rebellion against the Emperor. From the Knight Houses to the Rogue Traders, from the Imperial Army to the bloodlines of the Navigators, all who had once held Imperial allegiance had been forced to choose between the Emperor and the Warmaster – and those who had attempted neutrality had often learned its perils at the latter's hands. Even the loyalists hadn't been above forcing the hand of those who sought to remain uninvolved, once the war had become desperate enough.

Arguably the greatest of the forces that were divided during the Heresy (with only the Mechanicum itself contending for that position) was the Imperial Army. Re-uniting the scattered kingdoms of Humanity in the Great Crusade had been the effort of untold billions, from the soldiers charging at xenos walls to the pilots of fighter squadrons. The Imperial Army had been an incredibly complex organization, a behemoth composed of many parts that had worked together to bring the galaxy to heel before being torn asunder and turned against itself. And none of these parts had wielded as much destructive power as the branch of it that manned the hundreds of thousands of ships needed to carry the armies of Humanity across the stars and battle the armadas of the xenos and the uncompliant.

In the Imperium, that branch of the Imperial Army had become the Imperial Navy following the sundering of the Great Crusade's mighty host after Horus' rebellion. Within the Eye of Terror, things were at once simpler and more complicated. The fleets that had fled from the defeat at Terra had gathered once more in the Eye under the banner of the Traitor Legions and the Dark Mechanicum, with a few remaining independent as raiders under the command of charismatic warlords.

In the beginning of the traitors' exile, with the invasion of the Eye of Terror and the Legion Wars raging, there had been plenty of work to occupy these ships and their crews. But as the Long War shifted to intrigue and long-term corruption, the fleets that had once set fire to the Imperium found themselves losing the favor of their transhuman overlords.

Instead of the glory and conquest they had been promised, the Captains and Admirals had been relegated to what amounted to guard duty in a space where their beloved ships were slowly being warped around them, their corridors infested with manifested Neverborn that needed regular purging lest they overtake entire decks. With the great minds of the Traitor Legions focused on finding new ways to destabilize the Imperium from within, the brutes and failures were sent to oversee ships whose only sight of action was the occasional engagement with enemy scouts or unaligned raiders.

Slowly, far from the sight of the Chaos Marines, discontent grew among the Chaos armadas. Daemons whispered into the ears of captains and bridge officers, murmuring of the glory and riches they were being denied, of how the Warmaster's change of tactics had left them behind. Oh, one day their time would come – when the Imperium was breaking apart from within and the gates of the Eye were thrown open wide. But why should they wait on the pleasure of fallen Angels who had already failed once ?

To the ship officers of the Horusian Dominion, things were even worse. Under the effects of the Theft of Time, age was catching up to them, although at a slowed down rate. Rejuvenat treatments improved upon by Apothecaries and Sorcerers kept those veterans of the rebellion whose expertise was too valuable to lose alive, but they were few and far between – new academies had been built to replace the rest, where knowledge was extracted from the brains of the dead and forcibly implanted into the minds of their successors.

Over the course of centuries, those few ageless officers formed a great conspiracy aimed at reclaiming their freedom. They were lead by Admiral Yraeg, a decorated veteran of the Great Crusade and the Heresy. Yraeg had been there when the fleets of the allied Traitor Legions had opened fire on the Iron Hands, Raven Guard and Salamanders at Istvaan V, and had fought under the Warmaster's banner during the Siege to break the Imperial Fists' defense spheres.

As charismatic as he was cunning, Yraeg extended the conspiracy, reaching out to those few independent raiders who remained. He played the Chaos Marine overseers of the fleet against each other, preying upon their own resentment and grudges. Caught in their own intrigues, the Sons of Horus did not notice the betrayal being planned under their noses until it was too late.

When Yraeg judged he was ready, his first move was devastating. Across dozens of warships, those loyal to the Warmaster were assassinated. Chaos Marines were cut down by focused las-fire, high explosives, or daemons summoned and bound by paid warlocks. The assistants of Sorcerers sabotaged their masters' rituals, and Legion vessels attached to former Imperial Army flotillas were obliterated as their erstwhile allies turned on them without warning.

Using the very properties of the Theft of Time, Yraeg was able to synchronize these acts of rebellion across a dozen systems of the Horusian Dominion. Within a few days, thousands of Sons of Horus had perished, dozens of ships had been lost, several fortresses and centers of industry had been reduced to molten slag, and an armada of over three hundred vessels was mustering under the banner of Admiral Yraeg.

"_The age of the Astartes is over.  
__The Legions have failed. We need not heed their commands any longer.  
__Horus is a petty tyrant, sitting on his throne on Maeleum – no different from his father. We must take our destiny into our own hands if we are to claim the glory that is our birthright."  
_Admiral Yraeg

When word of the rebellion reached Maeleum, Horus' fury was beyond measure. The Prince of the Eye summoned his son Abaddon before him, and tasked him with destroying this uprising – but Yraeg himself, warned the Primarch, was to be delivered to him alive, or if that wasn't possible, his shackled soul. Accompanied by Ahriman of the Cabal, the First Captain of the Sixteenth Legion left Maeleum at the head of a massive Legion fleet, where every ship's crew had been culled of any who may symphatize with the rebels.

For three years, Abaddon's fleet hunted down Yraeg's rebels, but the Admiral managed to elude the First Captain at every turn, leaving behind him a trail of plundered and razed strongholds. Scouts separated from the main bulk of the rebels were caught and destroyed, but Yreag's numbers actually grew as new ships rallied to his banner. Flotillas from the Night Lords, Iron Warriors and Dark Mechanicum allies of the Warmaster came to Abaddon's assistance, eventually cornering the rebel Admiral.

With his back against the Sundered Tides that walled off the Horusian Dominion from the rest of the Eye of Terror, it seemed Admiral Yreag would be forced into a last stand. Despite his prodigious talent at void warfare, the Admiral's fleet was outnumbered three to one and had no Astartes to defend against boarding actions – something which had been its most glaring weakness during the entire campaign.

"_This needs not be the end, Admiral."_

"_What do you want ?"_

"_Only for you to realize your full potential …"_

By this point, Abaddon's desire to crush the rebel Admiral was almost as great as his Primarch's fury at the man's rebellion. The First Captain was determined to lead the attack on Yreag's flagship in person – but he also wanted to make sure _none _of the rebels would survive. An example needed to be made so that none would ever dare emulate Yreag's treachery in the future. The entirety of the rebel fleet would be killed, down to the last deck ratling, and every ship would be torn asunder and its debris left to float in the system, cursed by Sorcerers so that no scavenger would ever touch it. Abaddon made sure his prey knew this, broadcasting his intent on an open vox-channel.

Leaving no path of escape, the Legion fleet closed in on the rebel armada, ready to begin the greatest battle within the Eye of Terror since the end of the Legion Wars. Then, on his command bridge, faced with the prospect of defeat and unending torment at the hands of the Prince of the Eye, Admiral Yreag made his choice.

"_I … sacrifice."_

Last recorded transmission from the _Unbridled Fury_, Admiral Yreag's flagship.

All of a sudden, Sorcerers across the Legion armada cried out as the Sundered Tides erupted. Planet-sized gouts of Warp-stuff engulfed the entire rebel armada, while the Legion ships desperately retreated from the cataclysm. And then, just as suddenly as it had happened, the Tides surged back – taking with them any trace of Admiral Yreag's rebel fleet.

The aftershocks of this event echoed across the entire Dominion, and the Cabal had to work hard and sacrifice thousands of slaves to correct the anomalies that appeared in the sorcerous architecture of the Theft of Time. Abaddon returned to Maeleum and knelt before the Warmaster's throne, confessing his failure behind closed doors. What punishment Horus inflicted upon his son remains unknown, but a week later, the doors of the throneroom opened and the First Captain emerged, seemingly unwounded, never to speak of what had transpired within.

After repairing the damage to the Theft of Time, the Cabalites began to search for the Lost Fleet, as Yreag's rebel armada had since come to be called. They did not believe what had happened to be a random event – it had been too powerful and too localized. Spies across the Eye searched for any trace of the Lost Fleet, while Sorcerers interrogated Neverborn and cultists across the galaxy.

Finally, they found it. Not long after the disappearance of the Lost Fleet, the Imperium had experienced a sudden surge in piracy in the region near the Warp Storm known as the Maelstrom. Entire merchant convoys had been slaughtered, most of their cargo – which was vitally needed by half a dozen hive-worlds – not even plundered, but simply blasted into space. As starvation and disorder spread across the sub-Sector, the Imperial Navy responded by intensifying its patrols, assisted by a local White Scars flotilla.

After several small-scale engagements, the Imperial forces encountered the full might of the Chaos fleet present in the sub-Sector : an armada hundreds strong, composed of daemonships of ancient and twisted design. An entire Battlefleet was assembled to deal with this threat, but the Chaos armada withdrew before the hammer of Imperial retribution, fleeing into the Maelstrom where none dared to pursue them.

Before this retreat, however, several of the infernal vessels were boarded, and much information was collected by agents of the Inquisition. It was from these reports, once Horusian spies had gained access to them, that the servants of the Warmaster pieced together what had happened – though the how and why of it all yet eluded them.

Admiral Yreag had been elevated to daemonhood, one of few mortals to claim that honor since the Traitor Legions had dedicated themselves to the Ruinous Powers. Those who had followed him in his rebellion against the Prince of the Eye, however, had not been so lucky. The Warp had turned them into hollow-eyed automatons, their wills annihilated and replaced by unquestioning obedience to their Daemon Prince Admiral. The similarities between these wretches and the damned souls of Kerlazium did not go unnoticed by the scholars of the Eye, who pondered at the implications of this at length without coming to any clear conclusion.

The last transmission from the _Unbridled Fury –_ which was now a titanic daemonship, its captain having become fused to it and utterly enslaved to Yreag's will – seemed to indicate that the renegade Admiral had willingly submitted his followers to this fate, whether to escape the Warmaster's wrath or to secure his own ascension.

Upon learning of the Lost Fleet's fate, Horus ordered his servants to influence the Imperium in order to ensure its destruction, while also looking into ways to reach the Maelstrom from within the Eye of Terror. Although the Webway Network had been damaged beyond repair when the Fall of the Eldar had occurred, entire sections remained accessible if one was willing to risk the perils of the Neverborn infesting them, and the Warmaster believed that one such path might lead to the Maelstrom – and to the one who had dared break his oaths of loyalty to the Prince of the Eye.

Despite those efforts, the Lost Fleet continued to haunt the Imperium for centuries. From within the Maelstrom, Yreag dispatched his deathless servants on raids across the neighbouring Sectors. In time, rumors began to spread among pirates and cultists. Though their source was never identified, these rumors claimed that, if one were to journey into the Maelstrom and swear one's soul to the Dark Admiral who dwelled there, they would be granted eternal existence as one of his servants – as well as their heart's desire. Other rumors spoke of the treasures Yreag had accumulated, plundered from the Horusian Dominion itself and from his years of pillaging since his ascension.

Thousands of greedy and ambitious fools made the journey to the Maelstrom in search of riches and immortality – whatever its form. Most were destroyed by the storms, but those few who successfully made their way to Yreag's fortress – the location of which was a secret seeded in fragmented hints across the Ultima Segmentum by the Daemon Prince – were richly rewarded. Desperate nobles and would-be pirate lords entered the Maelstrom and returned as Chaos Lords, holding the Dark Admiral's banner and plunging entire worlds into ruin.

So began a dark time for the Ultima Segmentum, which so far had benefited from the presence of the Five Hundred Worlds and Guilliman's leadership. The Ultramarines dedicated considerable resources to purging the Lost Fleet and destroying Yreag, but even the warrior-kings of Maccrage could not brave the tides of the Maelstrom. Guilliman commanded the construction of dozens of fortress-stations along the principal shipping lanes of the Segmentum and increased Navy patrols, but those measures could do little to stop the wave of heresy that spread under Yreag's influence.

So it was that the Daemon Prince Yreag became another thorn in the Imperium's side, and a sworn enemy of Horus and his servants. Whenever the Lost Fleet encountered agents of the Traitor Legions, it immediately attacked them, without regard for any Imperial presence. And even when one of its daemonships were destroyed, they eventually came back, their hulks vanishing into the aether and reforming within the Dark Admiral's kingdom in the Maelstrom.

* * *

AN : IT LIVES !

Who will be the first to get the inspiration(s) for this chapter ? I was _not _subtle.

Against my better judgment, I have made a lot of progress on a Choose-your-own-adventure style story for the city of Aftermath. It will probably end up published here at some point, so we will see how this goes. There are a _lot _of stories I want to write set in Aftermath, but I am already spreading myself too thin, so ... we will see.

Zahariel out.


	27. Aftermath CYOA 1 : The Way of Things

AN : Hello, everyone !

Remember when I wrote "The City of Aftermath" and said that, having been inspired by Fallen London, I wanted to write a CYOA story in the same style ? Well, here we are. I finished Fallen London's monthly Exceptional Story this morning, and was thus inspired to finish this story, which has been an ongoing work of mine for several weeks now.

I recommend you read the chapters "The Battle of the Forge" and "The City of Aftermath" before reading/playing this, to re-familiarize yourself with the context.

The rules to play this are quite simple. You start at the beginning and choose which option you select at the end, which send you to the next part. I have removed the stats requirements and randomness present in Fallen London to focus on the narrative choices. Along the way, you will gain Qualities, which are both the caracteristics of your character and the choices you make during the story. Since I am hoping to write several such stories with narrative continuity, I recommend keeping notes of which Qualities you gain on a text file or a piece of paper.

Formatting this was a real chore, so I hope it works out. If you have a better idea for the presentation of future CYOA stories, please tell me.

I hope you enjoy this introduction to the mechanics of what will hopefully be a series of such CYOA stories set in the city of Aftermath in the _Prince of the Eye_ timeline. I also recommend once again that you try the browser game _Fallen London _for yourself - it's free, has plenty of content available to non-subscribers, and is very, _very _well written.

Still hoping to finish the next chapter of _A Blade Recast _before the end of the week-end, but we will see.

Zahariel out.

* * *

**Aftermath Choose-Your-Own-Adventure 1**  
**The Way of Things**

You dream of a city. You recognize it : it was your home, before it fell.

For thousands of years, it stood as a beacon of Imperial civilization. Vast Manufactoriums produced goods that were shipped across the Sub-Sector, while crops were grown under vast domes of plexiglass and nobles in their spires plotted and schemed for their bloodlines' advancement. Every few decades, the best and brightest were sent off to the stars, to join the Imperial Guard and help defend the worlds of the wider Imperium from the countless threats to Humanity's dominion.

But you were not content with things as they were. You did not accept your place in the order of things. And you were not alone.

Rebellion came, driven by whispered promises of what freedom from the crushing edicts and tithes of distant Terra would bring. Before your eyes, the city was torn by civil war, quick and bloody. The icons of the Imperium were cast down, the symbols of the old order abandoned. You watched as the city rebuilt itself while revolution spread across the world, a banner flying in the face of tyranny. It was a time of celebration and limitless potential.

Then came the wrath of the Imperium, slow and unrelenting. You dream of burning skies, of the earth trembling at the impact of a thousand cannons. You dream of desperate fighting, of an infinite army entirely without mercy. You dream of the bargain, made with beings the nature of which none of you really understood.

Who were you, in those final days before the city was stolen ? _(Choose only one option)._

_R__1 – Orator of the Rebellion  
__R2 – Soldier of the Uprising  
__R3 – Magus of the Society  
__R4 – Assassin of the Creed_

_R__1 – __Orator of the Rebellion  
_You spoke zealously in favor of the rebellion, making inflammatory speeches about the cruelty and wastefulness of the Imperium, and the hypocrisy and arrogance of the Ecclesiarchy. With firebrand rhetoric and plenty of examples of Imperial injustice to call upon, you fired up crowds that gathered far from the eye of Imperial law, and drove them to join the cause with the promise of a better future for them and their descendants.  
_Gain the Qualities "__Mastery of__ Rhetoric" and "Network of the Rebellion".  
__Go to 00._

_R__2 – __Soldier of the Uprising  
_Perhaps you were in the Planetary Defense Forces that were more loyal to their homeworld than to the Imperium. Perhaps you were part of the private guard of one of the rebellion's leaders. Perhaps you were just one of the countless thousands of oppressed workers who rose up in defiance of their cruel overseers and their heavy-handed enforcers. Regardless, you fought, bled and killed for your and your world's freedom, side by side with your comrades.  
_Gain the Qualities "Military Training" and "Brotherhood of Rebels".  
__Go to 00._

_R__3 – __Magus of the Society  
_In deep underhive catacombs or the hidden chambers of opulent palaces, you learned the forbidden rituals and opened your mind to the greater truths that the Imperium desperately tries to suppress. When the rebellion came, you and your kind emerged from the shadows and shared some of the truths you had gleaned with the ignorant masses. You helped them see beyond the lies of the Ecclesiarchy, and assisted in the rituals that led to the bargain.  
_Gain the Qualities "Forbidden Lore" and "Cabalist Contacts".  
__Go to 00._

_R__4 – __Assassin of the Creed  
_From childhood, you were raised by the Temple to serve as a living weapon. What you knew of the outside world was filtered through the lens of the function for which you were shaped. Perhaps you broke free during your first mission, or perhaps you remained loyal to the cause of the sect that made you, whatever it was. When the rebellion came, you slew several Imperial officers, and helped secure the city for the revolutionaries, before it was stolen.  
_Gain the Qualities "Unwavering Will" and "Stealth Lore".  
__Go to 00._

_00 – A beginning  
_You wake up. It takes several moments from the dream of the city's fall to fade, for you to remember where you are. When the fog of troubled sleep fades and realization hits, you sigh.  
Saying that Aftermath has a criminal element would be like saying that water is wet, or that the Eye of Terror is dangerous. There is hardly a soul in the entire agglomerate city that does not regularly commit acts that would see them imprisoned (or burned at the stake) on any Imperial world. The Masters may impose their authority upon all, but Aftermath remains largely lawless, with the strong doing as they please – until they cross someone stronger.  
For even in a place such as this, the truly powerful need somewhere to put those who break the status quo; those who make themselves a disturbance to the way of things. There are no laws in Aftermath, but there is a prison, where those who cross the Masters' enforcers are tossed until they face judgement. It stands on the edge of the city of cities, on the opposite side from the Embassy, connected to the main body of Aftermath only by a thin, heavily defended bridge. Once, you heard, it was an Arbites tower. Now it is a series of identical cells, laid on a hundred levels surrounding a hollow shaft, with the prisoners being taken to the top once their number comes up so that they can be processed.  
It is called the Tower of Tears. There are stories of attempted escapes and break-outs, and they never end well for the prisoners. It is all very-well maintained, and clearly sees a lot of use. Amidst the chaos and near-complete anarchy of Aftermath, it is an island of precise order and procedures. A shame you have to see it from a captive's perspective.  
You have waited in your cell for several days now, and at last your turn has come. A pair of enforcers carry you to the chamber of judgment, your limbs bound by chains even an Astartes could not break. You are sit down in a chair that still has stains from the last person killed on it, and someone who seems like a man but isn't looks down upon you from an elevated desk, reading your file before beginning the interrogation.  
What are you in for ?  
_01 – An unauthorized daemon summoning  
__02 – A brawl which degenerated into a riot  
__03 – A theft which went wrong  
__04 – An evening of playing the wrong cards with the wrong people  
__05 – Nothing ! I am innocent !_

_01 – An unauthorized daemon summoning  
_Whatever your purpose in calling forth that Neverborn from the depths of the Warp, you thought you could control it. You thought that your circle would hold, that the words of power you held in your mind would compel it to obey.  
As it turned out, you were wrong. Your interrogator lists the damage the creature caused before being put down in a slow, dispassionate voice. Three whole buildings left in ruin. Ninety-nine people killed, though thankfully for you no one of any importance. An entire squad of enforcers dispatched from their assigned patrols to contain and banish the entity.  
"If anything," he remarks at the end, "I am surprised you survived at all, being at the center of this disaster. One might say that such luck implies the favor of the Gods … and my employers are always on the look-out for such individuals."  
_Gain the Qualities "A troublesome reputation" and "Daemonist".  
__Go to 06._

_02 – A brawl which degenerated into a riot  
_"Quite." You would not have thought it possible to convey so much contempt in one word, but here it is. "A certain level of … excitement … is expected in these parts, of course. But this went beyond that by far, did it not ? And you were at the center of it all."  
There is no denying it. You were drunk, either on alcohol or on the violent energies coursing through the crowd. You don't remember much, but what you do remember paints a damning picture. Still, your interrogator refreshes your memory, listing the businesses whose windows the mob smashed, the handful of lynchings, and the battle against the enforcers sent to disperse the crowd, during which you rallied your fellow rioters like a warrior-king of old before being brought down by half a dozen bulky mutants in uniform.  
_Gain the Qualities "A troublesome reputation" and "Bloodied hands".  
__Go to 06._

_03 – A theft which went wrong  
_Weeks of observation and planning, all wasted in a single moment. The rush of the heist came crashing down when you heard that infernal screeching and knew you had been made. In truth, you were lucky to get out alive, even if you stumbled directly into the arms of the enforcers.  
"Indeed. It was quite foolish of you to try your luck on that particular building, was it not ? Those who deal in Eldar soul-stones know full well the value of their merchandise, and take the necessary precautions to protect their property. Then again, I suppose you had no way of knowing about their new daemonic guard dog : it was summoned that very day, and in total secrecy. The fact that you made it all the way to the treasury's gate speaks highly of your skill, at least … or perhaps it was just the Changer's luck."  
_Gain the Qualities "A troublesome reputation" and "An interest in soul-stones".  
__Go to 06._

_04 – An evening of playing the wrong cards with the wrong people  
_It turns out that outsmarting someone in a game of cards is all well and good, until that person catches you cheating and reveals themselves as an agent of the Masters. All of your bluffing and blustering skills could not save you when he confronted you with half a dozen enforcers and a vengeful smirk.  
"I have to admit," says your interrogator, "that was a bit shameful on my colleague's part. Not sending you here, of course, but falling for your tricks in the first place. Rest assured that he has been reprimanded. However, I am afraid we cannot be seen as being taken advantage of, even in something as petty as a card game."  
_Gain the Qualities "A troublesome reputation" and "An enemy among the agents of the Masters".  
__Go to 06._

_05 – Nothing ! I am innocent !  
_You were caught in the middle of the street and hauled into this cell, with no explanation nor chance of escape. Were you wrongly accused of something, framed, or is this a ploy by your captors ? Does your interrogator know this ? Does he even care ?! You could swear you see him smirk, but it might be nothing more than a trick of the light.  
_Gain the Qualities "Wrongly incarcerated" and "Noticed by the Masters".  
__Go to 06._

_06 – Yes, well …  
_"As you might have already guessed," he says, "I am about to make you an offer. One that, at the risk of sounding condescending, it would be in your best interests to accept. Your crimes, while not insignificant, are not so great that you cannot earn the Masters' forgiveness in exchange for your service. I trust I don't need to tell you what the alternative is ?"  
He doesn't. You know what happens to the prisoners who don't leave this "court" free : you saw dozens of them fall during your captivity.  
"Good. Here is the situation : last week, something was stolen from a warehouse belonging to the Masters. It had just been delivered by ship, and we believe that the theft was one of opportunity rather than an intended one."  
"The thief has already been found and punished, but he had already sold the object to someone else. While the object isn't that important to us, we cannot let anyone believe they can get away with stealing from the Masters, nor buying from those who do."  
"You will go to this fence, and deal with him in a manner that makes our displeasure clear. As for the object, we will pay you an additional fee for its return, but should it be destroyed or lost, you will be forgiven. All that matters is that an example be made."  
_07 – __Accept the offer  
__08 – Refuse the offer (this is a poor idea)_

_07 – Accept the offer  
_You don't have a choice, and he knows it.  
"Wonderful ! The fence in question is named the Apostate. The object is a box of dark metal decorated with green wood and marked with this symbol-" he produces a piece of parchment upon which is marked a rune whose sight makes your eyes hurt.  
"Before I send you on your way, do you have questions ? Best to ask them now, rather than come back in failure and waste all of our time."  
_09 – Who is the Apostate ?  
__10 – Why ask you to do this ?  
__11 – What's to keep you from just running once you are out of the Tower of Tears ?  
__12 – You have no more questions._

_08 – Refuse the offer  
_Well, if anything, you did surprise the bastard at least. You don't think anyone has ever refused such a proposal before. Of course, that is cold comfort to you as you fall, passing by row after row of cells on your way down. You even catch a glimpse of your old cell, before splattering onto the gore-strewn stone waiting at the bottom of the Tower of Tears.  
This is where your story ends. It didn't have to, but you made your choice, and no one can take that from you.

THE END

_09 – Who is the Apostate ?  
_"I am not surprised you haven't heard of him. He is one of Aftermath's many, many would-be lords. A minor if relatively successful gang leader and fence of stolen goods. We aren't sure where the name comes from." You get the feeling, from his tone, that the man doesn't care on whit.  
_Go back to 07._

_10 – __Why ask __you__ to do this ?  
_"It is hardly unprecedented for us to offer forgiveness in exchange for service, and your crimes are minor enough that this is acceptable in your case. We could track the Apostate down ourselves, but it hardly seems worth the effort when we can send you to do it instead."  
_Go back to 07._

_11 – What's to keep you from just running once you are out of the Tower of Tears ?  
_He smiles again, perhaps amused at your candor.  
"You could certainly _try_," he says in a tone that's half-condescending, half-threatening. "I would not recommend it, unless you have friends aboard a ship about to depart and never return. Which we know you do not. Otherwise, you could hide from us … until we offer another prisoner his chance at freedom in exchange for bringing you back to us. Sooner or later, the Masters will have their due." That last sentence is spoken differently from the rest of his sermon – like it has been spoken before, many, many times.  
_Go back to 07._

_12 – You have no more questions.  
_"Good ! These men will take you outside and give you back your confiscated possessions." He waves for you to depart, his gaze already falling onto the next dossier. You don't say anything as the guards who brought you in the chamber take you back out.  
_Gain the Quality "An unwitting agent of the Masters". Go to 13._

_1__3__ – A slightly l__ess__ dangerous part of town  
_After being handed back your clothes, weapons and possessions, you are brought to the gates of the Tower of Tears. You weren't given a deadline, but you have a feeling it would be best to deal with this as soon as possible, if only to avoid the trail going cold. Unfolding the map handed to you by the agent of the Masters, you make your way to the lair of the Apostate. The map is quite comprehensive, and probably worth something once this is done.  
Even with it, it takes you a few hours to reach the area. The Apostate has installed his business in what used to be an artisanal district, where nobles grown wealthy on the toil of Imperial workers came to spend their coins on frivolities. You navigate through the streets and arrive to the address you were given.  
There are men guarding the building, tall and armed with knives and pistols, walking in pairs as they patrol the perimeter looking for trouble. They are, as best as you can judge, merely humans – not a beastman or hulking mutant among them. What few stigmas of the Eye you can glimpse are minor – an additional eye, scaled skin, a twisted leg, and so forth. Still, there _are _several of them, and you are alone.  
How will you get inside ?  
_14 – __[Quality "M__astery of Rhetoric__" required] __Lie your way in.  
__15 – [Quality "Stealth Lore" required] Sneak your way in.  
__16 – Force your way in.  
_

_14 – __[Quality "M__astery of Rhetoric__" required] __Lie your way in.  
_You walk straight in, confidence in your every step. When the guards accost you, you sneer at them with the appropriate disdain, before declaring that you have something you want to show their employer, and if they know what's good for them they won't interrupt you. The sheer arrogance of your words convince them that you are actually here to do business, and they usher you in through the front door. A bell rings it opens and closes, leaving you alone in the front room of the Apostate's fencing operation.  
_Go to 17._

_15 – [Quality "Stealth Lore" required] Sneak your way in.  
_You make yourself one with the shadows, sneaking from hiding spot to hiding spot while remaining out of the guards' sight. It is, to be perfectly honest, a waste of your talents, but after so long in the Tower of Tears it does your pride good to see that your skills haven't rusted too much.  
When you push open the door leading to the front room of the Apostate's fencing operation, you nearly chuckle when you notice the bell above the door. You deftly catch it between your fingers, stopping it from ringing before silently closing the door behind you.  
_Go to 17._

_16 – Force your way in.  
_The guards, for all their intimidating looks, are still only thugs in the end. They have experience in intimidating other people, but precious actual fighting prowess. You, on the other hand, were here when your city rebelled against Imperial tyranny. Whatever part you played in the city's liberation, your hands did not go unbloodied. You strike at the first patrol from behind, smashing one thug's skull with a piece of rock before slashing at the throat of his partner. Others try to stand in your path, but you kill them, one by one, until the rest think better of it and run.  
The door slams open at your touch, a bell jingling sharply at the impact. Blood still dripping from your knuckles, you stride into the front room of the Apostate's fencing operation.  
_Go to 17._

_17 – The Apostate's Lair  
_The agent of the Masters wasn't lying when he described the Apostate as a minor player in Aftermath. The room is full of junk, spread out on prefab furniture scavenged from a hundred different cities and held together with duct-tape and spit. There is dried blood on the rockrete floor, and a door leading deeper into the building. Of the Apostate himself, or anyone else for that matter, there is no trace.  
_18 – Examine the goods on display.  
__19 – Proceed deeper into the building._

_18 – The Apostate's merchandise  
_You look through a few crates. Most of it is junk : weapons of various quality (without the corresponding ammunition), the torn-off gildings of priceless artworks sponsored by the nobility of some Imperial world, the bones of mutated creatures (including a collection of teeth ranging form as small as your fingernail to as big as your torso) … None of it is of immediate interest to you, and it would be risky to try to pawn it off at any of the Apostate's competitors – they do tend to look poorly on people who steal from their own, even if they wouldn't hesitate to kill and plunder a rival's stock themselves.  
_Go back to 17._

_19 – Confronting the Apostate  
_You walk through a long corridor and up a couple of flights of stairs. All the doors you pass on your way are barred, either by planks of metal hammered into their side or by debris blocking them. This building is in much worse shape than it looked like from the outside.  
The Apostate was waiting for you. As you enter his office, he stands behind a desk on which lies the object that earned him the Masters' displeasure. He is a man, tall and thin, with a pair of goat horns emerging from his chin.  
"Who are you ?" he asks, pointing a plasma pistol in your direction. "What do you want ?"  
_20 – Explain why you are here.  
__21 – __[Quality "M__ilitary Training__" required] __Point out that the weapon he is aiming at you isn't charged.  
__22 – __[Quality "B__loodied Hands__" required] __Threaten the Apostate __with physical harm.  
__23 – __[Quality "Daemonist" required] __Threaten the Apostate with spiritual harm.  
__24 – __Fight__ the Apostate_

_20 – Explain why you are here.  
_There is no reason to hide the truth. You tell the man about the Tower of Tears, about the offer you were made, and about the fate of the thief who sold the box to him.  
He scoffs. "Is that what they told you ? Heh, maybe it's even true. It's not like the Masters care about keeping track of us _'lowly mortals', _the frakking abominations. I was there, you know, when the Ambassador came and revealed to everyone where they came from. Before that, no one in Aftermath knew that the only reason our oh-so-mighty lords and masters had come to Aftermath was that they had gotten kicked out of their home by Horus. Oh, no doubt _some _people knew – we did have visitors from the rest of the Eye. But before that, the tale of what really happened when Horus conquered the Forge wasn't exactly widespread. They pretend they don't care that everyone knows they are exiles now, but I know better. It _enrages _them, and there is nothing they can do about it … except take out their anger on those like us."  
During his tirade, his aim hasn't wavered.  
_21 – __[Quality "M__ilitary Training__" required] __Point out that the weapon he is aiming at you isn't charged.  
__22 – __[Quality "B__loodied Hands__" required] __Threaten the Apostate __with physical harm.  
__23 – __[Quality "Daemonist" required] __Threaten the Apostate with spiritual harm.  
__24 – Fight the Apostate_

_21 – __[Quality "M__ilitary Training__" required] __Point out that the weapon he is aiming at you isn't charged.  
_He sneers, not believing you, and pulls the trigger. Nothing happens, and you take advantage of his surprise, with a prepared move that takes him down to the ground, his horns grating against the floor. You hold him there, his arms tied behind his back and your foot on his neck.  
He is at your mercy, and he knows it – in fact, he is blabbering, promising you that he will never buy anything stolen from the Masters again, that he will do whatever you want so long as you don't kill him. You get the impression that the Apostate earned that name, and that he is terrified of what waits for him on the other side – not without reason, for this is the Eye of Terror.  
What to do ?  
_If you choose to kill the Apostate, gain the Quality "Killed the Apostate" and go to 25.  
__If you choose to let him live and leave, gain the Quality "Spared the Apostate" and go to 25._

_22 – __[Quality "B__loodied Hands__" required] __Threaten the Apostate __with physical harm.  
_You crack your knuckles, and begin to tell the Apostate, in a calm and even tone of voice, what will happen to him if he doesn't give you what you came for. You describe the pain of broken bones, of torn fingers, cut skin and pierced eyeballs. You passionlessly describe to him the ways in which someone can be beaten for _hours _without dying or being allowed to fall unconscious.  
All the while, you never raise your voice. You do not need to. By the time you are half-way through, the hand holding his pistol is shaking and sweat is running down his face. When you are done, he begs for mercy. With trembling hands, he pushes the box in your direction, before running toward the exit. You let him go – his nightmares will be punishment enough.  
_Gain the Quality "Spared the Apostate". Go to 25.  
_

_23 – [Quality "Daemonist" required] Threaten the Apostate with spiritual harm.  
_You tell the man of all the terrible things you may unleash upon him. You speak of the Chambers of Burning Torments, where the handmaidens of the Youngest God use daggers forged from the bitterness of scorned lovers and heated with the cries of betrayed heroes to flay the souls of the dead, over and over again, until nothing is left of them but an endless scream of agony. You describe to him the many ways in which a Hound of Khorne may feast upon a prey's heart before bringing its skull to the lowest reaches of its master's Throne.  
This continues for several minutes, the Apostate growing paler and paler as you go on. Past the first minute, his gun has slipped from his grasp.  
By the time you are done, he begs for mercy. With trembling hands, he pushes the box in your direction, before running toward the exit. You let him go – his nightmares will be punishment enough.  
_Gain the Quality "Spared the Apostate". Go to 25._

_24 – Fight the Apostate  
_You plunge to the side as the Apostate presses the trigger – only for nothing to happen, his plasma pistol somehow malfunctioning. Before he can recover from the shock, you are on him, bashing his head against his desk until he falls to the ground. You felt his skull break in your grip – if he isn't already dead, he will be soon.  
Did he deserve this fate, for crossing the Masters without perhaps even intending to ? That is a matter for the Gods to decide. For now, you have an assignment to complete.  
_Gain the Quality "Killed the Apostate". Go to 25._

_25 – The Prize  
_The box lies before you, every lock opened by the Apostate. Looking at it more closely, you realize just how secured the damn thing was.  
You only need to remove the lid to see what's inside. Or you could do the sensible thing and chain it up again, before taking it back to your employers. There are secrets best left unknown, temptations that are best resisted by never facing them in the first place. You feel, without knowing how, that this is one of them.  
And yet … the Apostate was willing to risk the wrath of the Masters to get whatever is in this box. He must have known the moment it was brought to him that only they would deal in such goods, or others almost as dangerous.  
No. No ! This is foolish.  
You must make your choice.  
_26 –__[Quality "F__orbidden Lore__" required] __Examine the box __more closely.  
_27 _– Open the box and look inside.  
_28_ – Seal the box again and bring it to the Masters._

_26 – __[Quality "F__orbidden Lore__" required] __Examine the box __more closely  
_You recognize some of the symbols on the box. You last saw them on the door of another occultist, who was hoping they would keep him safe as he pursued the Consequence – that they would hide him from the grisly fate that befalls all who learn it. They failed, and he died – horribly so – but you still recognize their intended purpose : these are meant to contain, to_ hide,_not to protect.  
Did the Apostate know what's inside the box ? Judging by these symbols, breaking the seals as he did could very well have doomed him, along with the entire neighbourhood. The fact that it hasn't seems to indicate that the wards were more intended to keep the contents hidden rather than safe.  
27 _– Open the box and look inside.  
_28_ – Seal the box again and bring it to the Masters._

27 _– Open the box and look inside  
_You remove the box's cover slowly, carefully, and reveal a cushion of black velvet on which lies a small crystal flask filled with a glowing red liquid and topped with a diamond-encrusted cork.  
Without the box's protection, you can feel the power radiating from the liquid. It … calls to you. You feel the impulse to pick up the flask and drink its contents, despite every instinct screaming at you that doing so would be foolish in the extreme. You catch your own hand stretching toward the flask without having consciously chosen to do so, and you pull it back.  
Alone in the Apostate's office, faced with the object whose theft drew the ire of the Masters, you feel temptation weighing heavily upon your soul.  
28_ – Seal the box again and bring it to the Masters.  
_29 – _Drink the contents of the flask_

28_ – Seal the box again and bring it to the Masters  
_It is the smart thing to do. Nevermind the perils of exposing yourself to Gods-know-what the box's contents actually are – risking to draw the wrath of the Masters of Aftermath upon yourself would be foolish in the extreme.  
You tighten the ropes and chains to make sure the lid won't slip off, but can do nothing for the more arcane seals : they have been broken beyond your ability to repair them. No matter. You will bring it back to the Tower of Tears and be done with it. It's not as if the trip will be long enough for whatever's inside to affect you, is it ?  
_Go to 32._

29 – _Drink the contents of the flask  
_You cannot hold yourself back. You remove the diamond-encrusted cork and drink the flask's contents in one gulp. It tastes like stolen dreams and the dust of dead suns.  
At first, nothing happens. Then -  
_Go to 30._

30 – _?  
_There is fire. There is iron. There is the distant sound of hammers and screams.  
There is an offer, and a refusal. There is laughter, cold and cruel.  
There is pain. There is shock. There is denial. There is defeat.  
There is shame, and then, in the last moment before the end, there is -  
There is the sight of crimson droplets falling from armor blacker than the heart of the Gods.  
_Gain the Quality "A Glimpse of Something of Consequence". Go to 31._

31 – _Awake, again  
_When your consciousness returns, you find yourself back in the Apostate's office, laying on the floor. The box is still there on the desk – but there is no sign of the flask, except for a small pile of dust on the floor.  
_Go to 33._

32 _– Returning the box and its contents  
_You leave the Apostate's headquarters, taking the sealed box with you, and go back to the Tower of Tears. If the guards are surprised to see you, they show no sign of it. You are taken inside – much more politely than during your previous visit – and ushered into a small office on the first floor. Another agent of the Masters takes the box from you, and, seeing its seals are broken, takes a cautious peek inside. After confirming that its contents are still there, he remarks that Master Lore will be pleased with the object's return.  
_Gain the Quality "Returned the Box with its contents intact". Lose the Quality "An unwitting agent of the Masters".  
__Go to 34._

33 – _Bringing the empty box to the Masters  
_You leave the Apostate's headquarters, taking the now-empty box with you, and go back to the Tower of Tears. If the guards are surprised to see you, they show no sign of it. You are taken inside – much more politely than during your previous visit – and ushered into a small office on the first floor. Another agent of the Masters takes the box from you, and, seeing its seals are broken, takes a cautious peek inside. He frowns with all five eyes as he notices it is empty. When he asks you about it, you tell him that you found it like that in the Apostate's own office. It's not clear if he believes you or not, but after a few seconds, he shrugs.  
"This was never really about what was stolen," he explains. "This was about making an example."  
They let you leave, but you feel the eyes of the guards as you walk away from the Tower of Tears.  
_Gain the Quality "Returned the Box empty". Lose the Quality "An unwitting agent of the Masters".  
__Go to 34._

34_ – It is done.  
_You return to your lodgings, which, as you were promised, have been kept safe in your absence. The people you meet on your way there regard you with a new respect. Not many emerge from the Tower of Tears with the Masters' blessing, and even less survive whatever task they are asked to accomplish in return. Tomorrow there will be rumors about you all across Aftermath's countless bars, brothels and other, less savoury establishments. It won't last, of course – fame never does for those who do not possess true power, here in Aftermath, and dealing with the Apostate is not nearly enough to put you in that hallowed category. But by the end of it you will have gained some small reputation as someone who can get things done.  
As you lie down to rest, you feel that this is only the beginning of a new chapter in your life. One chapter ended when your city was taken to Aftermath, and you had to adapt to your new reality. Now, you think, a new one starts.  
_Gain the Quality "A Name in the making".  
__You have finished your first storyline in Aftermath. __Take note of the Qualities you have earned while playing : __they are the consequences of your actions following you__. The choices you make in one story may influence which options are available __in the next._


	28. The Darkness War

_Maeleum Datum : 888.M33_

In a chamber without light, atop a tower that rose far above the screams of Kerlazium's damned souls, two demigods with eyes of purest obsidian met.

Once, they had been brothers, and had fought side by side during the Great Crusade to bring unruly human worlds to compliance through terror. Later, they had spilled the blood of the Shattered Legions together on the black sands of Isstvan V, and waged war in the Thramas Crusade and the Siege of Terra. Only later, when the Eighth Legion had come to the Eye of Terror and claimed the daemon world of Kerlazium as their own, had their brotherhood begun to fray. As the Night Lords Legion had divided in two separate factions, each reflecting one aspect of their Primarch, the two brothers had also grown distant, each falling on a different side of the divide.

Yet despite their differences and disagreements, they still met once every decade, to speak of the past, the present, and the future. And so it was that Apothecary Talos Valcoran of the Tenth Company met with Vandred Anrathi, once a Sergeant of that same company, who was now known as the Exalted.

In the years since the Night Lords had conquered Kerlazium, Talos had risen in prestige among the faction of the Legion who had refused to embrace Chaos and sought to continue waging the Long War against the hated Imperium. Under the leadership of Zso Sahaal, the Talonmaster, Talos had participated in dozens of battles during the Legion Wars. Through his actions and the visions of the future that haunted him, Talos had become a lord of the Vindicators, those sons of the Night Haunter who desired the ruin of the False Emperor and all His works.

By contrast, the Exalted had welcomed one of the Neverborn within his body, gaining the power of a Possessed Marine at the cost of his soul. The torture engines he had designed could extract the_ akhrali_ from thousands of damned with nightmarish efficiency, and had earned him enough wealth to claim a sizeable domain on Kerlazium, and the dubious loyalty of hundreds of Night Lords. Though lesser to the Daemon Princes like Acerbus Krieg, the Exalted was still highly ranked among the Dread Lords, as those of Curze's sons who had drunk deep of the Warp's cup called themselves.

For centuries, the Vindicators and the Dread Lords had been at odds, with the occasional flare of violence. Only the presence of their Primarch, whose shadow fell across all of Kerlazium, had kept the Night Lords from destroying themselves – for even in his madness and isolation, Curze had aligned himself with Horus, and would not tolerate the loss of his Legion to internecine conflict. Or at least, so his sons believed – the pale, crazed creature that their gene-sire had become had never said anything to that effect outright.

Among the veterans of the Great Crusade and the Heresy, the Dread Lords outnumbered their saner brothers by a large margin, but the very powers they had indulged in also made them supremely fractious, and their territories on Kerlazium were wretched and desolate places, festering with civil wars waged by armies of the damned for the amusement of their tormentors. By contrat, the followers of the Long War were better organized and unified than the Eighth Legion had arguably ever been before, with a clear hierarchy and a strict discipline.

However, the vaster territories of the Dread Lords hosted untold millions of damned souls, and the Vindicators' need for _akhrali _far outstripped the production of their own torture facilities, forcing the followers of the Long War to trade with their more debased brothers. The Vindicators were also the faction controlling most of Kerlazium's orbital stations, where envoys from other powers within the Eye came to trade for _akhrali_, which contributed to the uneasy truce between the Vindicators and the Dread Lords.

Powerful individuals on both sides of the divide desired to maintain this precarious balance, and it was with that aim that Talos and the Exalted met in one of the spires that jutted above the sprawling megalopolis that surrounded the palace of the King of the Night. Few of their brothers knew of the meeting – those who could be trusted not to let their disgust for the other faction overcome their common sense – and of those, even fewer knew its time and location.

"_I understand __that you don't have the kind of pull needed to get Askhol to stop __r__aiding ships__ at the system's edge__, __Vandred__.__ but – Wait. __Something … __Something is __going to __-"_

The two Night Lords were deep in their decennial discussion when, without warning, an explosion blossomed in the middle of the spire atop which they met. The flare of the detonation burned the sensitive eyes of Night Lords and mortals across the megalopolis – the damned's spectral eyes did not feel anything, used as they were to much greater torments.

The top half of the spire fell, crashing into one of the greatest _akhrali _extraction factories of Kerlazium's capital – one of the few such structures whose control was shared between the Vindicators and the Dread Lords. The stocks of _akhrali _were caught in the destruction, and nameless horrors rose from the flames, spawned of the _akhrali's _eldritch energies and the final thoughts of the factory's workers.

Within hours, accusations began to fly, with the tension skyrocketing once word of the meeting that had taken place there spread. Neither Talos nor the Exalted had been found after the explosion, and both factions began to accuse the other of arranging the attack. Despite the attempts of cooler heads among the Vindicators to de-escalate matters, the simple truth was that the Eighth Legion had ever been riven by distrust, petty grudges and hatred, and soon several of the Dread Lords declared that this insult would not go unpunished.

Things may yet have calmed down, if not for the series of raids and attacks that quickly followed and that each side blamed on the other. In the border territories of the Dread Lords, the complex machinery of torture palaces was sabotaged, causing cascading failures that led to more daemonic outbreaks and even uprisings among the damned. Proeminent Night Lords were found dead in their chambers, murdered by bolters and energy weapons. Finally, the warship _Echo of Damnation_, one of the Vindicators' vessels in orbit of Kerlazium, went suddenly dark, refusing to answer any hail as it broke formation and opened fire on one of the trading orbital stations, sending its wreck burning through the daemonworld's atmosphere before the _Echo _was reclaimed by Vindicators' boarding parties, who found the crew dead and the bridge deserted.

The actions of the _Echo of Damnation _were the catalyst for the animosity that had built up to that point. A last-ditch meeting between dignitaries of both factions degenerated into battle, and the preparations for open war began in earnest.

Across Kerlazium, the Dread Lords summoned their armies. Hordes of the damned were armed with primitive weapons and herded toward the domains of the Vindicators by their cruel taskmasters. Monstrous things that had once been particularly evil souls and had been transformed by sorcerous experiments into ghastly beasts of shadow and rage were released from their prisons. Twisted warmachines designed by the Dark Mechanicum emerged from secret laboratories, fuelled by the unending torments of dozens of damned souls constantly tortured within their chassis in order to produce _akhrali _for their mechanisms to consume.

Alongside these came the Dread Lords themselves : Possessed and Daemon Princes, with their accompanying Neverborn. Atop great machines of bone and metal, they looked upon their gathered hosts and smiled as they marched toward Kerlazium's capital city.

Meanwhile, Zso Sahaal had mustered the strength of the Vindicators, ostensibly to defend the capital and prevent the anarchy from reaching the Night Haunter's private palace at its center.

Using technology purchased from the New Empire of Fabius Bile, the Vindicators had replenished the ranks of the Legion, which had been bled badly during the Horus Heresy. Entire space stations and Apothecarions had been dedicated to processing these new recruits, who rose from Ascension with no memory of their mortal lives.

Over thirty thousand Legionaries descended from orbit to face the host of the Dread Lords, less than five thousands of them having lived through the rebellion against the False Emperor. With them came tanks, Dreadnoughts, Chaos Knights and Titans – the host of the Long War, marshalled for the first time in order to make war against the other half of the Eighth Legion's soul.

Even at this point, messengers were dispatched to Kerlazium and the Primarch's palace, some begging for the Night Haunter to intervene and prevent the Night Lords from tearing themselves apart, others asking for his benediction for one side over the other. No response came, and the messengers themselves weren't heard from again. Rumors began to spread on both sides that Curze had abandoned his Legion, while others claimed that the Primarch was waiting to see who would emerge victorious, and recognize them as the rightful lords of the Eighth Legion.

Faced with the ranks of the Vindicators – who were far more numerous than they had previously believed – the Dread Lords unleashed their damned hordes, seeking to bleed the strength of their foes before committing their more powerful troops. Millions of incarnated souls charged the lines of the Night Lords, who tore them apart anew with massed bolter and artillery fire. Even so, the sheer numbers of the damned eventually carried them to the Vindicators' lines, and a brutal melee ensued.

As the Night Lords Legion fought against itself, something stirred behind the walls. In the ruins of the tower whose collapse had begun the Darkness War, a figure emerged, clad in midnight blue. Despite numerous injuries, he had dug his way out of the rubble, all the way from depths the rescue efforts had judged impossible to survive. Before the wide eyes of a few onlookers – the slaves, living and damned, who had been set the task of clearing up the debris – Talos Valcoran burst from the earth, his cracked eye-lenses blazing with anger.

The Apothecary quickly interrogated the terrified menials, and learned of the war unfolding outside the city. Cursing his brothers' short-sightedness, Talos still did not rush there. The vision that had struck him moments before the attempt on his life – which, it seemed, had successfully claimed the Exalted's – had intensified during his time beneath the ruins. As the Apothecary dug his way up, his mind had been haunted by a flow of visions, a series of dread revelations bestowed by the curse his gene-line had inflicted upon him. He knew what was happening across Kerlazium; he knew whose hand was behind it all; and he knew what their true goal was.

Leaving his Legion to kill itself, Talos rushed toward the city's center, where the Night Haunter's palace of screams stood. The first guards he found were dead, their bodies still warm. The Apothecary moved quickly, ignoring the pain of his injuries as he made his way to the sanctum of the palace – the Primarch's own quarters. On his way, he found more dead servants and Night Lords, all of whom looked to have been killed by surprise before they could defend themselves.

All signs pointed to an isolated assassin, who had used the confusion caused by the battle between Vindicators and Dread Lords to infiltrate the palace. The identity of its target was obvious to Talos – his mind's eye burned with visions of his gene-sire, seating on his throne of melted damned and still-living Imperial captives, smiling as he looked upon the descending blade of his killer.

Driven by something that, in another soul, may have been called filial piety, Talos rushed to save his Primarch, disregarding stealth for speed. The Apothecary passed by many of the Eighth Legion's nightmarish wonders – the Sculpture of Silence, a hauntingly beautiful piece composed of thousands of human skulls of all sizes; the Throne of Blades, an execution device made from the hammered swords of dead Ultramarines; a painting of Nostramo's destruction realized by a blind slave in whose ears the Primarch had whispered while he worked; and many, many more. Any one of these relics would have driven a mortal man to abject terror, but the Night Lord ignored them all.

Finally, Talos caught up with the assassin, right before the gate of Curze's chambers. The corpses of two Chaos Terminators laid on the ground in a pool of blood, their throats cut before they could even see their killer. Talos, however, could see it plainly as it worked on the complex locks barring its passage into the room beyond. As the Apothecary approached, it turned to face him.

The assassin was an Eldar, hailing from the fabled Dark City of Commoragh. To its cruel and debased kind, it was known as the Blade of Ptesh, a figure of legend and terror even among that race's cruel elite. Of the billions of assassins that lived among the Drukhari sub-species, there were none more dreaded than the Blade of Ptesh, whose name took its roots in the mythology of the Eldar predating the Fall. Even among the Imperium, its name was known, for it was it that had murdered the Ecclesiarch Veneris II soon after his ascension to the rank of High Lord of Terra. A powerful sorcerous artefact hung from the xenos' neck, protecting its soul from the ravenous hunger of the Eye of Terror – without such a protection, its strength would have been drained in days, quickly followed by its soul.

Talos saw all of this in the blink of an eye, the knowledge flashing before his eyes even as his brain burned from the onslaught of visions and blood leaked from his eyes, ears, nose and mouth. Overcoming the pain through an effort of will, the Night Lord drew his power blade, the stolen Blood Angel sword _Aurum_, and launched himself at the assassin.

By rights, the duel of Talos Valcoran and the Blade of Ptesh should have ended in moments. The Apothecary was strong, but he had never been one of his Legion's champions, and was wounded and exhausted besides. Furthermore, he was of the Vindicators, and had eschewed the boons of the Ruinous Powers. In contrast, the Blade of Ptesh was a millennia-old creature of murder and deceit, and though its speciality laid in striking from the shadows, unseen and unheard until it was too late, it was still a master of the less elegant aspects of killing as well. A cocktail of drugs brewed in the Dark City's abominable laboratories was combined with alterations made by master Haemonculi to push its abilities beyond the natural grace of the Eldar and into something greater.

Yet Talos managed to match the Dark Eldar's skills, his transhuman speed and reflexes aided by the torrent of split-second visions that still flowed through his skull. The Night Lord could see every move of the xenos before it made it, and this was just barely enough to block and dodge every blow of the Blade of Ptesh's toxin-covered knives.

Before the gate to Curze's chambers the two fought, their duel witnessed by no other soul. Eventually, Talos' visions showed him a path to victory. As blades clashed once more, the Apothecary adjusted his blow by the slightest angle, a motion that seemed born of exhaustion rather than intent. The Blade of Ptesh immediately seized the minute opening this created, and planted its dagger into Talos' right flank.

No sooner had the Commorite blade pierced ceramite and flesh that the assassin realized his mistake. Letting go of _Aurum's _handle, fighting his way through the agony of his new wound, Talos closed his hands around the Eldar's throat and began throttling him. The Drukhari fought, but was brought down and immobilized by Talos' greater strength and weight. As poisons designed to kill a Primarch flowed through his bloodstream, Talos kept the Blade of Ptesh pinned down as he strangled it.

It was then that the gates opened, and Konrad Curze stepped out of his chambers for the first time in decades. The Night Haunter looked upon the scene – the two dead Atramentar, the xenos and his son locked in an embrace that would soon see both of them dead – and smiled.

"_Well done, my son. You do indeed possess the truth of purpose I had foreseen."_

With a gentleness none would have believed him capable of, Curze pulled his son off the Eldar assassin and removed Talos' helm, revealing features distorted by veins bulging with the poisons running through them. With his own talon, the Primarch cut his own tongue, and let his rich blood flow into the mouth of the Apothecary. Whether due to the innate potency of the Primarch's vitae or the dark boons he had received since entering the Eye of Terror, the blood countered the poisons, and Talos took a deep, shuddering breath as the agony wracking body abated.

Only then did Curze's black gaze turn onto the Blade of Ptesh, who was stirring on the ground. Talos moved to finish the xenos off, but Curze stopped him with a single raised talon, and instead knelt by the side of the alien as it regained awareness to find the dark demigod it had come to kill looming over it.

"_Do not speak. There is nothing you can tell me that I do not already know. But rejoice, little creature : my brother will have a use for you, and therefore you will live beyond this moment."_

With the capture of the Blade of Ptesh, it became clear to Talos that his Primarch had known about the plot to assassinate him all along, and had relied upon Talos to capture the xenos assassin once it made its move. As the xenos was locked into a stasis coffin, the Apothecary dared to ask his gene-sire why he had let things go this far. Not only had he himself come to risk – for the weapons the Blade had carried could have slain the Night Haunter had they been given the chance – but the Legion itself was coming apart as its two factions waged war, deceived by the machinations of the Blade's mysterious patrons. Again, Curze only smiled, and told his son that all would become clear in time.

Outside the walls of the capital city, battle still raged between the Dread Lords and the Vindicators. The Talonmaster's strategic acumen had enabled his Traitor Marines to hold against the vastly superior foe, and the fields were littered with corpses, but now the Dread Lords were letting loose their greater monsters, having taken the measure of their foe. A parade of abominations was unleashed, and the Vindicators watched in grim determination as it approached.

Before contact was made, however, Curze appeared atop the walls. The Primarch blazed with eldritch power and inhuman charisma, and as one, the warriors and slaves of the Night Lords knelt before their liege. From the lowest of the conscripted damned to the Daemon Princes of the Dread Lords, all bent the knee – all save for Talos, who stood at his Primarch's side, his helmet replaced on his head, now adorned with a bloody rune traced by Curze himself.

The Darkness War was not over, Curze proclaimed : now it must be waged against the true enemy of the Legion. The rivalries and feuds of the Eighth had been used by outsiders, but this would be no more. The two aspects of the Night Lords would be united under his command, and together they would punish those who had sought to destroy them. At his word, the armies retreated, while the commanders of both sides were summoned to his palace.

Sat on his throne, Curze explained to the lords of his Legion the truth behind the explosion of the spire and the various acts of sabotage and assassination that had followed. He told them of the Blade of Ptesh, and how Talos – who now stood next to the Primarch's throne – had managed to stop it at the last moment. But this was not merely the work of xenos : the Blade had merely been an instrument, a tool in the latest move in the long-dormant Legion Wars.

The conspirators had woven powerful sorceries around the Blade, keeping Curze's second sight from locating the assassin and the rest of their plots on Kerlazium. Agents had infiltrated the ranks of the Eighth Legion's servants, arriving to the daemon world on ships come to trade for_ akhrali_ before slipping away into the darkness. With the assassin's capture and imprisonment, however, these spells had collapsed, and all was now revealed to the Night Haunter.

It was the Dark Council of Sicarius, or a faction of it, that had hired the Blade of Ptesh to throw the Eighth Legion into chaos and assassinate its Primarch. The Dark Apostles sought to avenge the humiliation inflicted upon the Word Bearers when Curze had brought Moriana to Sicarius, and the witch's words had broken the will of Lorgar. Constrained by the Aurelian's promise, the Word Bearers could do nothing against Moriana in revenge, but the Night Lords were not so protected.

The Night Lords were enraged by this revelation, and loudly vowed vengeance against the Seventeenth. Smiling – a sight that still disturbed the sons of Nostramo – the Primarch assured his sons that they would have their vengeance. The Darkness War was not over : now was the time to teach a lesson to the Dark Council.

In the weeks that followed, as a vast fleet of Night Lords ships was assembled and prepared above Kerlazium and the agents of the Dark Council in the system were hunted down, Talos was ever at his Primarch's side. The Apothecary was now called by a new title, one that Curze had bestowed upon him years ago, but which the Legion only now understood : _Soul Hunter, _whose meaning was encapsulated in the Nostraman rune Curze had inscribed upon his son's helmet.

"_One soul. You will hunt one shining soul while all others turn their backs on vengeance."  
_The prophecy of Konrad Curze to Talos Valcoran, during the Horus Heresy

Once the preparations were complete, for the first time since the Heresy, Konrad Curze led his sons to war in person. Enough forces were left at Kerlazium to defend it and keep up the production and trade of _akhrali_, but nigh on fifty thousand Chaos Marines were aboard a fleet composed of over two hundred ships. Mercenary warbands were contacted, and offerred substantial payments of _akhrali _to lend their might to the defense of the Night Lords holding while the bulk of their Legion exacted revenge from the Word Bearers. A lesser power might have been worried that these mercenaries would turn on the Eighth Legion and try to plunder Kerlazium, but the reputation of the Night Lords' Primarch, and the fact that all knew him to be a close ally of Horus, made such concernes uneeded.

The Eighth Legion departed the Horusian territories and launched a series of brutal raids on outposts of the Word Bearers and their allies. The discipline of the Vindicators was paired with the ferocity of the Dread Lords, a tenuous alliance enforced by the will of the Night Haunter. Strongholds were destroyed, cities were razed, and amidst the ruins were left the flayed skins of the agents captured on Kerlazium, with Nostraman runes written in blood upon the cured leather, forming oaths of dread retribution for the schemes of the Dark Council. When Word Bearers forces arrived too late to the aid of their ruined holdings, they found these skins, and learned of the scheme of the ever-secretive Dark Council – and of their failure.

Curze led several of these assaults in person, slaughtering the sons of Lorgar with ease, his Soul Hunter at his side. The blood of the Primarch that Talos had drunk had intensified the strength of his visions, and though this caused him great pain, it made him all but impossible to defeat in combat. In the years to come, Talos' deeds during that campaign would cement his reputation as Curze's favored son, and he would serve as herald and representative to the Primarch in the Horusian Dominion and beyond.

In total, the Night Lords laid waste to twenty-seven systems, one for every agent of the Dark Council they had captured alive in Kerlazium. Their fleet moved fast, guided through the tides of the Eye of Terror by Curze, and all attempts by the Seventeenth to face them with a great enough force failed.

When the Night Lords finally declared their retribution complete and the Darkness War ended, many sons of Lorgar called for their own vengeance. But the revelations of the Dark Council's plot – and, more importantly, its complete failure – had sent fractures through the Legion. With Lorgar still isolated within the Templum Inficio, the Legion's leadership had fallen to the Dark Council, who had ostensibly focused their efforts on waging the Long War outside the Eye of Terror.

Hatred of the Ecclesiarchy had helped the Dark Council keep the Word Bearers under control after Moriana's Declaration, yet their failure – which was added to older whispers, regarding the arrival of the Fallen into the Eye, or the collapse of the Crimson Accords – was making many of their warriors doubt that they had the favor of the Gods. Curze's navigation of his fleet across the Eye's turbulent tide had shown that he had the blessing of Chaos, and many wondered if their Legion hadn't turned away from the Path to Glory since Lorgar had seemingly abandoned them.

The Dark Council fractured as factions and plots began to form, with Erebus and Kor Phaeron forced to rely on one another to maintain their position as its head, something which caused no small measure of bleak amusement to those who knew the two had always hated each other. Daggers were drawn in the dark, and in the end, no coordinated effort was made against the Night Lords, though a few Hosts launched isolated attacks on Horusian territories. Many more sought to reclaim the favor of Chaos by intensifying their activities in the Long War, causing a dark age for the Ecclesiarchy as the agents of the Seventeenth redoubled their efforts all across the Imperium.

Meanwhile, as the retribution of the Eighth Legion and its consequences unfolded across the Eye of Terror and beyond, a single ship brought the stasis-locked Blade of Ptesh to Maeleum. For the first time since the Fall, an Eldar was on the daemon world, and was delivered to Horus himself by a squad of Atramentars sworn to absolute secrecy and obedience to their Primarch. Of the few who knew of this cargo, none knew why the Night Haunter had sent his would-be assassin to the Prince of the Eye, nor what the Warmaster of Chaos might want with such a creature.

"_What … do you … want … mon-keigh ?"  
_"_I want to offer you a job."_

* * *

AN : Well, this took longer than planned. I think I had the idea for this chapter back in _January. _You know, the Before Times. Anyway, here is a new chapter of this alternate timeline.

I have always enjoyed reading about the Night Lords - they make for great villains. I am also still bitter over the fact that, years after the conclusion of the Night Lords trilogy, we still haven't got the story of the Eighth Legion's attack on Craftworld Ultwhe. At least it was mentioned in _Vigilus_, so we can still hold onto hope.

The Blade of Ptesh was mentioned previously in that story, but it's not an OC : in the Codex for the Adeptus Custodes, its name is mentioned as a xenos who attempted to kill the Emperor on behalf of an unknown patron. I have plans for it in this story - and so does Horus.

I have gone back and changed the references to "Morgana" in previous chapters to "Moriana". I have no idea how I made that mistake - the Morgana character from the Roboutian Heresy is completely different from Moriana from canon.

As always, I look forward to your feedback on this chapter. I am still focused on writing the Angel War. Right now, I have over 24k words worth of "finished" content for it, and I think I am somewhere between a third and half done. Yeah, it's going to be a long one. I don't know what I was thinking when I said I wanted to finish it by the fifth of August.

Zahariel out.


End file.
